


A Beginning

by DrowninginFandoms208 (Whisperedwords214)



Series: Life Ticking Away [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Cannibalism, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Disease, Gen, Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), I Don't Even Know, I don't know what other tags to use, Murder, Pre-Canon, Serial Killers, i have no clue what i'm doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21713248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whisperedwords214/pseuds/DrowninginFandoms208
Summary: Everything and every single human has an origin whether it's from birth or from creation and all end the same way. Death. You could stand out as the most marvelous human, the smartest, the scientist or the activist, anything if the talent was there and the dedication. This is not one of those situations. There are other ways to be known and are not the bright, interesting ways once thought and this origin starts where it shall end,  with a human named Alastor.
Series: Life Ticking Away [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566652
Comments: 32
Kudos: 163





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So I've read some human Alastor fics and I figured I give it a shot! I know it won't be as good as some other's out there but I wanted to try! I don't know exact dates when it comes to Alastor other than that he died in the 1930's and was said on a wiki he was in his early thirties but other than that I am grasping at straws. I'm going to try my best, though! I've been kind of inspired by the stories I've read so I really want to do a good job! I really would love feedback but I just want to do my best with this and make it good and enjoyable! So you can skip my babbling and read right on! This is my first Hazbin story so I'm kind of nervous haha!

He was sticky with sweat long before he even opened his eyes but opening his eyes slowly seemed to prolong the sensation of being sticky, of being heavy and weighted down, but he slowly sat up groaning to himself quietly. It was silent in the small house when he rubbed his fists into his eyes, kicking at the sweaty sheets swinging his legs over the side of the bed placing them firmly to the chilled floor as he yawned stretching his thin arms up. He looked to his window where the sun was peeking well over the horizon sending slats of light across the earth and sky making him blink groggily a few times before he walked across the room. His hair was matted against the back of his head and sticking up due to the sweat of the previous night which was making his skin itch when a mosquito buzzed angrily by his ear annoying him briefly. He opened his bedroom door sticking his head into the hallway then trotting across to the bathroom turning the light on walking across the small bathroom, the tiles sticking due to the clammy sheen on the bottoms of his feet and he turned the tub on listening to the pipes groaning giving nothing for a moment. He frowned drowsily when water burst out of the faucet spurting into the tub which he plugged up and he leaned on the edge watching the water swirling and filling the tub as he rubbed his eyes again. 

Normally every morning Alastor would wake to screaming, shouting, slamming of hands or items downstairs or in his parents room but this morning it was suspiciously silent. He sniffled rubbing his nose then got onto his knees, propping his arms on the tub and rested his head on them watching the water in a groggy state and the seven year old yawned before he could help himself. His father, notorious for his hunting around these parts of Louisiana, had recently moved his family to the woods in a cabin with thinner walls than a normal house in the city but there was no room for tears or arguments. He'd wanted to protest but he did not. His mother looked as though she had wanted to cry but did not. He leaned forward turning the water off at the halfway point which was painted with an unmistakable red where his father had lectured him over not going above or below it by an inch for that was the water they were expected to use. Too much and it was a waste, too little and it wasn't enough to make you clean. His father, a grimy disgusting looking man, sure was a damn contradiction. It looked like he had never seen a bath and was lecturing him about being clean when he had no reason too? His nearest friends had to run through the woods just to _get_ to him and even then if he wasn't pristine what did it matter? They were _children._

He pulled his sweaty shirt above his head then pushed his bottoms off stepping into the bath shivering when the warm water hit his hot flesh but slumped down into the water shutting his eyes at it came level to his mouth. It was easy to relax but some part of him refused to do so and remained rigid, listening, taking in the silence while the cicada's screamed their sounds outside promising a hot day like any other. He dunked his head under the water for a moment, holding his breath listening to the watery sounds around his ears as the bath water surged down his ear canal and he came back up carefully blowing a breath out rubbing his small hands over his face. He grabbed the soak scrubbing his skin, washing his hair fiercely and thoroughly as his father had threaten one time or another to cut all of Alastor's hair off if he ever dare to bring lice in the home and so it made washing himself a religious sort of ritual he did every morning and night. He rinsed his skin off then dunked under again scrubbing his hair fiercely while his lungs burned for air yet he kept scrubbing making sure his hair was absolutely clean before he surged up out of the water rubbing his face clear then opening his eyes. 

He sat there soaking in the water for a moment or two tilting his head back staring up at the ceiling of the bathroom blankly but taking in every detail of the ceiling he'd looked at countless times since they moved out here. A yellowing ceiling that appeared saggy due to the humidity of the hot water often used when they had it for baths and cracked with spidering hair thin lines. It appeared there was a dark green tint to the far left corner of the ceiling that promised a growing mold there that his father would do nothing about and his mother would fret over which irritated him already. His parents were two very different people yet the same. He sighed shutting his eyes just focusing on the little things in the room like the humidity in the air, the goosebumps that broke over his skin in response to each lap of the cooling water and just how his heart beat slow and evenly. Alastor rested like this before he sat up making the water slosh standing up plucking the plug out of the drain allowing the water to slid down while he stared at the floor. Now came the challenge. Could he run to his room, with a towel, fast enough to dress, brush his hair and run back to dry the floor? His father despised a wet floor and often lashed out when said anger reared it's ugly head and Alastor would like to avoid it best as possible right now. 

But the seven year old didn't know how he could get from point A to point B without leaving water on the floor and he was slowly beginning to shiver in hard spasms as the water swirled near his ankles being sucked down the greedy drain. The house was still silent, still even with this quiet, and he bit his lip for a moment debating this when he cautiously stepped out of the bath which allowed a puddle to form under his feet almost instantly. He reached for a towel wrapping it around his waist staring across the hall at his bedroom waiting for him and he took a breath then ran forward across the floor which was both the worst and stupidest mistake the seven year old could have ever made. He got to the middle of the hall, little droplets rolling to the ground when his wet feet slid underneath him and he came crashing to the floor crying out before he could help it and covered his mouth instantly. His heart raced in his chest staring down the hall to the stairs where his father could surge up at any second like a vengeful deity. 

When he got absolutely nothing for a whole minute he figured his father was out hunting which would provide for the perfect time to get dressed both leisurely but quickly then wipe up the water in the bathroom and hall without him ever finding out. Alastor scrambled to his feet rushing to his room rubbing his skin fiercely, shaking with the air battering his damp skin and he rubbed his hair fiercely squeezing the water out as he pulled his underwear on then took his towel rushing to the hall. He bend down rubbing the water up then ran forward in his hunched form soaking up the water on the bathroom floor, feeling so smugly satisfied and relaxed he felt the answering smirk curling over his lips. Then the front door banged open and slammed shut sending cold chills down his spine and forced his smirk to freeze in place. He stood quietly aware of his heart thundering in his ears now but not with fear for it was never that emotion when it came to Alastor and his father. He wasn't scared of him in the way other children were scared of alcoholic, abusive fathers, no, Alastor merely felt adrenaline rushing through his veins and anticipation coiling tight in his stomach. He tossed his towel in the hamper perfectly while the drain made a gurgling sucking noise that made him hold his breath wondering if his father could hear it all the way through the floor. He turned rushing to the bathroom door to his bedroom to get his clothing on when he slammed into a solid form. 

No, not a form, he realized when he slammed back on the floor looking up with curious eyes that widen a touch when they met flint cold ones. His father. Samuel Roberts was an intimidating man when looked at in the right lighting and right now Alastor, who normally did not find him so intimidating, was feeling smaller than a minuscule ant underneath his father's gaze. Then the familiar sneer came onto Samuel's face the longer he looked down at Alastor. "The hell are you doing, boy? Running 'round in your goddamn underwear like some faggot? You a faggot now, huh? Is that why you like running around with those boys outside so much? Sucking their dicks or somethin', Al?" 

His face was burning when he glared upwards at his father who was sneering at him like Alastor was some disgusting stain he'd found on his pristine kitchen counter or a cockroach that had dared scuttle it's way across his boot. "No." He mumbled under a pushed out breath when his father narrowed his eyes, blacker than anything that were set in a face so cold Alastor swore it never smiled. Nothing like his mother. Not a thing. 

"What was that, boy? How 'bout if you speak up I can give ya a good answer!" Samuel shouted down at the seven year old before reaching down grabbing Alastor's skinny arm fiercely, tight and hard enough Alastor could feel his pale skin bruising already but refused to flinch. His father thrived off the pain of another person. "Hey! Ro, get the fuck outta bed! I gotta show you sumthin!" God, would it kill his father to just speak like a human being instead of slurring his words annoyingly? 

But low and behold his mother produced herself out of the bedroom that was obviously his parents with a fatigue clinging to her face that showed signs of recently awakening but her eyes slowly focused. Then they got panicked. "What're you doin' with our boy, Sam?" She asked slowly while holding her robe closed over her chest, knuckles white with panic that she tried not to show in her face knowing just as well as Alastor that Samuel would just feast off of it. Samuel smirked then making air hiss sharply down Alastor's throat at the sight of it. 

" _Our_ son, you say. For all I know this ain't shit to me! How do I know he's mine, Ro? He's pale! Thin! He's disgustingly weak! I bet he couldn't even lift a chopped up log let alone cut one!" Samuel shook the seven year old then smirked down at Alastor before leaning towards him to whisper and Alastor could smell the booze on his breath already so potent. "Do you think I'm your father, boy? Or do you think your mother over there is a lyin', conevin', two timing slut who cheated on me? 'Cause you are the palest, disgustingest thing I've ever seen. And to top it off, Ro, your son is prancin' 'round here in his underwear like a goddamn faggot! No son o' mine gon' do that shit!" 

"That's enough, Sam! Let'im go!" His mother yelled anger tinting her pale face pink like a warning light and he held his breath hoping his mother would insist they leave right this second or kick his father out. But she continued to glare staring at Samuel's smirking face that looked strangely victorious for he'd definitely gotten what he wanted which was some reaction from his mother. "I _mean_ it, Sam, or you can leave right this second and go spend the day at Vivian Foster's house for the next two weeks! Let go of our boy, Sam, or so help me God you'll regret drinkin' this early in the morning. So help me God I will _kill_ you where you stand if you don't let our boy go. You have to the count of three to decide." 

Samuel laughed thick and loud, booming in the thin walled house while he tottered back on his heels releasing Alastor in the process like his mother was no peskier than the mosquito that had buzzed in Alastor's ear that morning. "Well then! Looks like my girl got some spite in her, huh? Go get dressed, boy, I wanna talk to your Mama about a few things that're gonna take place here in the next few weeks." When Alastor met his mother's gaze, freezing in place for a moment or two Samuel appeared irritated when he grit his teeth for a second before pointing at his bedroom. " _I said go! Get dressed and get the fuck out!_ " 

Alastor rushed to his room shutting the door pulling his knickers up, tugging his belt through the loops buckling it effectively, pulled his shirt on buttoning it up and tucking it in neatly then grabbed the suspenders his grandfather had gifted him. In his grandfather's words he could "never do without a pair to hold'em up" whether he meant his knickers or his good mood he had no clue but clipping the suspenders in place was difficult without his mother but got it done. He got his cap settling it on his head, pulled his socks on and his shoes tying them up tightly then opening the door running past his father who sneered when he went past. His mother brushed his shoulder briefly nodding like they had some sort of silent agreement but Alastor couldn't focus on that right now. 

He just wanted to run out into the trees and the wild life around him that were quickly becoming home more than these paper thin walls that held his father's booming shouts like prisoners of war o be echoed back. Running down the stairs through the open room that was half the kitchen and half the living room he pushed the screen door open listening to it slam shut behind him as he ran down the mossy, wet ground. He could breathe, he could breathe! The air was moist and tasted like the wild life around him but it was air unsullied by his father's presence. He laughed reaching up to keep his cap on his head while he ran down the mossy path leading to the slim tree that always kept unwanted people from just walking down but Alastor knew did nothing to do such a thing. Running up to the thin tree he planted his hand solidly against it throwing himself over it and running on. He felt adrenaline pumping through his veins and for a moment Alastor felt a sense of emotion he could never feel around his father. Control.

* * *

"Al! Alastor, baby, it's time for lunch! You can come in now!" He looked up in response to his mother's voice as his feet sank in the wet mud of the forest floor then looked up at the rain that pelted the tree limbs and soaked the ground. His hair was matted down to his face, his clothing soaked and his feet frigid he found he did not want to go back there right then for if it was raining right now then what was he to do? Go home and have his father breathe down his neck down all day long until he could go to bed? "Al! Come on, I know you're wet and cold! I got some jambalaya here waitin' to be eaten! Alastor!" 

Trudging along the path Alastor was tempted to get as muddy as possible but knew that if he did it, if he indulged in the rebellion even a touch, his father would beat his ass black and blue. He'd done it before and Alastor hadn't been able to sit properly for weeks and his body had ached horribly from the beating his father had delivered but his mother always got it worse. Always. He saw the familiar little house with it's paper thin walls but felt dread coiling in his chest like a snake struggling to find it's comfortable position and he hated it. It made him feel sick. He saw his mother's eyes light up when he trudged into view she held her arms out for a hug no doubt then took in the appearance of her son, paling with panic coating her eyes when heavy boots sounded behind her when he got to the bottom of the steps leading to the porch. His father, Samuel, stared down at him like he was a leech that dare slither itself up to his home then leaned against the door jam crossing his legs looking at Alastor. 

"Nope. No way in hell." Samuel said casually allowing confusion to creep across Alastor's face for a brief moment when his father smirked in such a way it slashed across his face like a knife had put it there. "You ain't comin' in my house all soaked like that and covered in shit. You'd best clean up and clean up quick before you decide you want to step over my threshold." Rose looked at him then wrung her hands nervously staring down at her small son who was so thin that he could get horribly sick just standing out here like this..

The seven year old shut his eyes for a moment knowing what his father must be referring too for when he opened his eyes again they found the gutter which was spewing water onto the ground like a hose and he bit the inside of his cheek. He wasn't even dirty! His father smirked at him like he was some apex predator watching a weak struggling creature and it made anger bubble beneath Alastor's skin like a swarm of bees threatening to claw their way out and attack his father. He trudged over to the corner of the house while his mother made a little noise that sounded choked while his father watched with anticipation and he stared out at the woods pretending that he was neither there or that his parents were watching on. Then he plunged in face first under the stream coming off their house and nearly gagged at the potently foul smelling water that gushed over him with a mix of clumps of this dark lumps that looked vaguely like leaves but he couldn't be sure. His father wanted him to be clean and yet he was making him do _this?_ Wouldn't this almost guarantee some kind of disease or lice? He held his breath shutting his eyes while he felt new and old sludge crawling across his skin making him want to vomit but he held it back. 

When he felt disgusting and smelled horrid he stepped out looking to his father, eyes seeking out those cold flint ones and Samuel grunted before disappearing while Alastor trudged around the porch to the stairs climbing up them and his mother pressing her fingers against her lips which were thin and pressed tight together. He took his boots off shivering in his cold clothing when he entered the house but the smell of jambalaya soon had his stomach growling when he felt a hand on his soaked hair and looked up. "Go and take a bath, baby, and I'll make you a bowl. "

"Okay." He mumbled the word while his father sat the head of the table eyeing Alastor as he trudged by and the seven year old kicked it up when he got on the stairs and walked to the bathroom plugging the tub up and turning the water on. He frowned taking his soaking hat off which slapped onto the floor of the bathroom with a wet heavy sound which he followed with his other wet clothing, shivering in hard vicious bursts while water dripped off the ends of his hair.

When he'd gotten to his underwear he shoved them off climbing in the tub and proceeded to shiver so hard his teeth rattled even if he tried to quiet it it seemed his very bones rattled under his skin like they were threatening to jump free. He slumped in the scalding, hot water as he shivered making wavelets travel over the waters surface when he heard feet climbing the stairs his mother hummed quietly walking into his bedroom no doubt to get him clothing. It proved true as he plucked the soak up scrubbing his skin which felt too dirty to be redeemed and it crawled continuously when he thought of the sludge that had dropped on him from the gutter. It wasn't the first time nor would it be the last his father pulled this stunt. His teeth chattered when he brought his arms out of the water and his mother walked in frowning softly. He could see where his father's drunk ranting this morning had come from for Alastor looked more like his mother than his father which was pretty damn strange but he didn't like thinking twice on it. He was _thankful_ he had nothing of his father to stain or taint him, was thankful and relieved nothing of him was like Samuel Roberts. He must have been frowning when he felt a finger pushing on the corner of his lips making him look up in surprise when his mother offered him a weak smile while leaning her cheek on the edge of the tub, the end of her dark hair dangling just millimeters above the water and she looked tired. Then she nudged the corner of his mouth again while her eyes locked on his when he noticed the neatly folded clothing in her arms and the glasses of his resting on top of them when he looked at his mother who was still pushing on the corner of his lips. 

"Smile, Alastor. You're never fully dressed without one." She murmured to him before standing appearing more fatigued than before when he noticed the bruises on the back of her neck like someone had grabbed her there to tight. Of course he had those similar bruises once and he knew his mother bore many similar bruises under her clothing as had Alastor. But her words, of all the advice or little things she'd say, she'd never said that particular line before and it had him curious when she left the room leaving him to rinse his skin with the hot water and scrub his hair. 

"You're never fully dressed without one, huh?" He questioned aloud when his mother made her descent downstairs to serve his father lunch first no doubt but the words were sticking to Alastor more than anything had ever stuck to him. He dunked himself under the water scrubbing his hair fiercely only to choose to hold himself under the water much like he had this morning and opened his eyes under there now.

He stared up at the wavering, shiny world above him through the film of soap on the water but when he came up he shut his eyes rubbing them fiercely. He then unplugged the tub standing up reaching for a towel rubbing his hair dry first, squeezing the locks tightly in his hands and then rubbed his skin fiercely when he dressed himself just as fast as the drain behind him gurgled while sucking the water down greedily then placed his glasses on his nose staring into the slightly fogged mirror. He looked like his mother from his pale coloring to his familiar brown hair and irises behind the rounded glasses and stared at his sullen face before tilting his head just a bit and smiled brightly at himself when he took a breath.

"Smile," His voice was loud in the bathroom which lightly echoed his voice. "You're never fully dressed without one!" 


	2. Little Note Before I Continue!

**I, quite honestly, am a pessimist so when I posted this I didn't expect to be that popular or as good as the others I have read. But oh my Lord you all are sweet! Thank you for the comments, it honestly makes me feel proud of the first chapter! I'm excited to keep writing but I have to give a little update so everyone is kinda in the loop-ish on the updates! So, I plan to update as frequently as I can which can either be every day or every two days depending on how much I write and how frequently I do so (which will be frequent!) but the schedule might be a little wonky since my mind is all over the place with Christmas coming up in a couple weeks and the excitement of my new laptop graciously bought my parents and plus I do do some schooling online which may take most of my time up.**

**But! I do plan to keep that every one or two days updates if I can, the latest will be a week or two, but as into the Hazbin Hotel fandom as I am this will probably be completed before I know it haha! Now, I thought I should say this now but it's not going to hinder me too much, but I had a little accident yesterday. I was walking home from the store, hit a patch ice with my foot and when I reached out to steady myself my arm flew back so hard something popped and there was instant fiery pain and while it didn't hurt that much yesterday it is now very painful. I have a doctors appointment at three today to see if I pulled a nerve or muscle, so I think the worst is I get a sling or something if I need it but I just wanted to kinda get out there what happened for I'd had every intention of doing a second chapter today but my arm is sore and painful enough I can barely lift it. I just wanted to let you all know the update schedule and the status of said arm which is sorely, painful and it might hinder writing for a little bit!**

**One more thing, though! I am thinking of maybe making this a series for each character! Like, the human lives of them if that makes sense! Writing about how I think they grew up, their life and how they died, so it's just kind of a spitball idea! I don't know if anyone would be into that so for now it'll be just Alastor for now! But I have to take a little break from writing right now since my arm is hurting, but I'll be sure to make a little update to this note when I get home with a new plan to make! But really, thank you three lovely fabulous people for leaving a comment, you've really made my day! So thank you a lot and I'll be back with more information and a new chapter shortly!**

**~Kim**


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got my shoulder looked at! Good news, nothing bad! The doctor said by the way I fell and how I can still move my arm pretty well and still have some strength it might just be whiplash from how my arm snapped back when I fell. He said it's a good thing it's not a frozen shoulder which meant I wouldn't have been able to even move it the slightest bit, but did say if the pain and such keeps up next week I have to go back. But I can write! Just gotta take it easy, do some stretches and that's that! Soo I decided to write! I'm inspired and I'll be making the series! I just didn't wanna rush into it like "I'm doing this and it's going to be awesome" but it's not good if that makes sense? And if it's not obvious now I absolutely love feedback when I can get it! But after this I might take a few days to stretch and watch my shoulder and pray that new computer comes in soon! For now read on! :D

Alastor hated the afternoon. The day before seemed completely mild to what he would have to endure this afternoon, on a Thursday, that had his lips pinching together listening to the water sloshing from upstairs when he glared over his shoulder. His mother had gone shopping to the nearest city which was an whole hour away and God knows how much she'd get and when she'd be back for the longest she had been away on Thursday had been four whole hours which left Alastor alone with his father. He often begged to go with her but his father sneered each and every time questioning if Alastor was going to be a "Mama's boy forever for no decent girl would wanna be with a faggot, Mama lover" so it was safe to say that he'd learned the hard way not to keep asking to go with her. He sat in the living room feeling icy jets pumping through his veins like tiny shards wedging themselves there when he heard the gurgling of the tub upstairs along with his father's humming that sounded from even down there.

Further proof of the thin walls and floors. Alastor swallowed feeling his stomach knot up painfully which went well with the pain in his ribs and shoulder blade from that morning when his bruised hands clung to the carpet while looking out the window. A rain storm had seemingly rolled in since yesterday, fit to stay a whole third day and he knew if he hoped for any help it wouldn't do him any good with that pouring rain that practically caused a fog to wrap around the woods. If he ran out there he might get lost and who would look for him? Certainly not his father. He heard feet on the stairs just in time for him to look over at his cleanly shaved, washed and dressed father which also had the smell of his cologne wafting around the room to choke Alastor's senses. 

He hated that smell more than he hated the booze that lingered on his father no matter how clean he may present himself to outsiders for Alastor knew better than anyone that the smell had become one with his skin. His father would smell like booze until the day he died. His father was combing his fingers through his damp hair when he then looked at his nails with a feigning interest that had the seven year old's skin crawling the longer he stared at his casually posed father who looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "What are the rules today, boy." 

It _should_ have been a question but it sounded more like the harsh command that it was and Alastor felt the words from his father wrapping his head so tightly he almost panicked but he clutched the rug with his hands again making the knuckles go white as the blood escaped them. Curious how blood under the skin, especially the knuckles, did that and he swallowed even if his mouth felt as dry as his throat did. "Stay in my room and not a peep. And don't tell Mama anything that goes on within these walls today when she gets home." 

His father gave him a rather sarcastic version of a smile walking forward ruffling Alastor's hair but gripped it a touch to tight for it to be paternal or caring but Alastor bit his tongue against a protest. "Good boy. Look at you! Good for somethin' at least!" He then released his hair with a force deemed by Alastor as unnecessary when his head and shoulders lurched to the right and nearly toppled over. "Viv will be here any moment, get to your room and I don't wanna hear a damn peep out of that room, you hear me, boy? If you make any noise, anythin' at all, I'll whoop your ass so bad you won't be able to stand or walk for weeks. Understand me?" 

Alastor stared up at his father swallowing again even if it did nothing, adjusted his glasses and stood up hearing the floor creak lightly under his feet when he locked his hands before him. "Yes, sir." 

"Then get fucking gone! Go! I don't wanna look at you for the rest of the day! Not til your Mama gets home, hear me?" Samuel snapped when the sound of wheels on a wet ground seemed ten times louder than it shoulder have been and his father glared when Alastor stood there a moment longer than normal. He stepped closed to his son again his hand whipping out faster than Alastor could see and gripped the back of his neck so tight the boy cried out in pain at the nerve endings that screamed at him to twist and buck but knew more burning pain would come as a result. He reached backwards clawing his father's arm crying out again when the pain doubled with the pressure of the fingers on his neck and he was walking forward unwillingly. " _I said go! I don't wanna see your disgustin' face!_ " 

He was shoved forward onto the rough stairs and Alastor had seconds to throw his hands out when his head cracked on the stairs where his palms dug into the edge with splintered wood sliding into his palm making him cry out a third time. His knees hit the stairs but he forced himself to his feet running up the stairs despite the throbbing pain of his poor body but ran into his room shutting it quietly when he'd really wanted to slam it and he bit his lip. He slammed his door one time and it had been the worst decision of his life when his father beat him for showing disobedience. He ran to his bed jumping onto it holding his breath when he heard the door opening downstairs followed by laughing greetings and Alastor clenched his jaw knowing what would take place and shivered gently. The heat of yesterday seemed completely gone replaced with a damp chill in the upper rooms of the house that Alastor hated for his father refused to "pay for a heat they would do nothin' with 'cept durin' winter and he wasn't doin' that" so it left the upstairs with a draft and the floors chilled. 

Alastor took his glasses off resting them quietly on the bedside table where his lamp sat and he shoved his face into the pillows, yanked at the blanket only to squirm under them when he heard steps on the stairs. The same voices from downstairs were coming up to his parents bedroom and he bit the pillow wishing he could spew venom for just a moment with the anger that coiled through him intensely at the sound of his parents door shutting. His father was in there, right now, with another woman who was not his mother and it was _wrong_. He heard a few flirty giggles through the wall and, well, it didn't take long for things to speed up to the situation he knew better than his own breathing and one that made him just as disgusted. He hated the way he could hear the heavy quick breathing, the squeaking of his parents bed when the weight and he hated the grunts he heard, the moans that turned to squeals of pleasure and knowing it was the woman who's son he knew made him absolutely sick. He squeezed his eyes shut wishing it would stop, all of it to stop, he'd do anything for it to just be quiet for once and he'd do anything for his mother to walk through that door _right now_. 

But he'd never get his wishes granted for there was no one to grant them nor was there a God who would look down with pity at him and answer his quiet prayers he'd whispered late at night until he was five years old and his father beat him so fiercely he ended up in intensive care. The reason he'd been beaten? His father caught him praying late at night and had said none of that 'religion bullshit is gon' fly or be in _his_ house" and had punished Alastor severely. The reason for his injuries in the intensive care? He'd fallen off the roof playing but even he could tell the doctors didn't believe his father but had too for it was his word against theirs and it was Alastor's against his father's but he'd bitten his tongue and kept quiet. Ever since that day not a single prayer had left his lips for a God who did nothing and took pity on no one, a God who did not exist to him. How could He? If God was real why put Alastor through this? Wasn't he innocent? Was he simply paying for his parents crimes or something? Their sins? 

He threw the blanket off of him sitting up so suddenly his bed frame did not enjoy it and groaned loudly making his heart stop in his chest and the air to freeze in the middle of his throat. His jaw dropped while his lips quivered, fingers shaking on the bed when the whole house went silent other than hushed whispers from the next room and the continuation of squealing moans and quiet grunts from his father. Alastor knew if he was to leave he needed to leave now and he got up quietly grateful his bed didn't groan a second time but grabbed his shoes sliding them on then following it with a cap of his and his glasses walking to his window. Swallowing Alastor knew if he didn't make this jump right he'd break his leg or worse, be discovered by his father. He bit his lip looking down from the distance of his window to the ground but had to take the risk right now before his father and Mrs. Foster finished which urged him to put one leg over the window sill that dug against his thighs uncomfortably until he got his other leg over and the sill proceeded to dig into his ass but when he dropped he had to suck in a breath not to scream. He hit the ground with a firm, undeniable impact that at first he felt buzzing in his legs, his waist, making him fear the worst. 

It was that fear that had him scrambling to his feet finding his legs were indeed fine but shook now with the rest of him at the battering wind and pouring rain, the mud threatening to suck his feet into the slick substance he breathed in the wet smell of the woods. It always smelled nice when everything was rain even if the smell of mud was a bit overpowering Alastor had gotten out and was feeling that control whispering to him when he took off running for the woods, skittering around Mrs. Foster's rather nice car and ran to the unmarked parts of the woods. His feet slid and careened wildly but he held his ground running through the woods, dodging trees and jumping tree roots best he could through the rain that pounded the ground and tree branches above like it was a punishment of some kind for the Earth around him. Alastor loved the control, the _freedom_ he felt whispering through his veins like conspirators giving him a taste of what he could always have if only his father was no longer in the picture but he would always be there. The only thing Alastor had to look forward too was his father going hunting when the rain stopped tomorrow or the day after which would mean a solid eight hours of no father, even two days, for his father often stayed away long when hunting. He hoped his father stayed away for that long, he prayed his father would get mauled or something of the sort but then that felt like getting away with too much for his father. 

Yet there was a whisper he'd have to go home soon and when he did his father was going to _murder_ him. His father had threatened to do so countless times in his seven years of life saying Alastor was "a thin, disgusting, creepy retard who would amount to nothin' moocher that should have been aborted the minute Rose had found out about him" and that because his mother didn't abort him that _he_ would kill Alastor if he dare to step out of line. Well. The line Alastor just stepped over was a dot for how far he'd stepped over it and fear curdled in his stomach for the first time in seven years but it was nothing compared to the control, the freedom singing through every inch of his body with each pounding step his feet delivered to the slick wet ground.

* * *

"Alastor! Alastor! Baby, where are you? _Alastor!_ " It was like yesterday was replaying on a loop for the boy when he looked over his shoulder at the echoing voice of his mother shouting for him. "Alastor, _please_ , come home, baby! I need to know you're okay! _Alastor!_ " Unlike yesterday, however, his mother sounded frenzied with her panic that Alastor felt a little knot inside of him cinch tighter with guilt. He had to go home, didn't he? 

He opened his mouth but wasn't sure his mother would hear _him_ clearly over the pouring rain and due to his location but he snapped his mouth shut when he realized it would also let his father know exactly where he was. Especially if he was in the woods as Alastor felt he was. Searching for him, no doubt. While he didn't have a single idea or a single piece of evidence his father was in the woods with him the boy could just feel it deep in his stomach that he was no alone in the woods and that he was being hunted down. It wasn't a pleasant feeling inside of him for it made him long to shed his skin the way certain spiders molted, or the way snakes shed their skin, he wanted to do the same.

Climb out of his old skin into something new that would feel better over his bones and not so disgustingly vile whenever his father gaze upon him or how these afternoons between his father and Mrs. Foster went, the way those moments made his skin crawl like insects were living beneath his skin. Festering below the smooth pale flesh, squirming through his muscles and scuttling their sharp little legs underneath his skin and wriggled along his nerves with a passion to drive him insane with each little flick of their legs. Alastor _knew_ they were there for why else would they go crazy in the presence of his father? Because _he_ put them there. _He_ hatched these eggs beneath Alastor's skin each hit and sneering look Samuel Roberts gave him the more eggs that hatched to larva underneath his skin that became the scuttling bugs whenever the man set eyes upon the seven year old. 

He often times wanted to beg his mother to take them out but bit his tongue for what could she do? He trudged through the mud in what felt like a daze towards his mother's piercing voice that sent panic humming through him, like the wings of those insects buzzing below his skin. Ready to rip through and fly away finally from their nesting ground under his skin any moment now. He stepped over roots that threatened to trip him, mud that threatened to slip him up, the rain that made him shiver fiercely against the chill in the air and the low fog that was threatening to trap him among the mossy trees of the woods. But when he saw the vague shape of his home where his mother stood on the porch looking minutes, seconds from falling apart, he trudged into view kicking mud where he could as he approached his mother.

She looked at him with wide eyes that shimmered with held back tears that shimmered in the brown of her irises, her hand shaking as it pressed against her lips when she gasped at the sight of her son. Her thin, frail little boy who would no doubt get sick from being in the rain not once but _twice_ now. He let himself be swaddled in her arms and he clung to her tightly feeling shakes come through his frame like secret whispers of the situation to come and he hid his face in his mother's neck wanting nothing more than to be a bit smaller, a bit lighter, a bit younger to know no better and to be picked up by his mother to be swaddled. He also wanted to be bigger, big enough where _he_ could defend his mother against his father and beat the hell out of Samuel Roberts. Let _him_ get a taste of his own medicine. 

"Come inside, baby. Your father left to find you but you need to get in the bath, get some life back in you before he gets back. I know! I'll give you a bowl of that left over jambalaya, hm? Sound good, sweetheart?" She questioned ushering him in shutting the door behind them as Alastor took his muddy shoes off then allowed himself to pad across the floor with his hand in his mother's. He could hear how damp his feet were when they slapped against the floor boards but remained quiet knowing these quiet minutes slipping by would end very very soon. For if Alastor was home his father wouldn't be far behind. His mother seemed to sense that for her face was pale when they entered the bathroom and shut the door for once, a rule his father established. "You gave your father a fright, Al, you know that right? He's been searchin' the city with Mrs. Foster just lookin' for you." 

"I see." He mumbled watching the water shoot out from the tub curiously, the hissing of escaping water loud in the small room when his mother began to undress him, shivers raking up and down his form. It was strange to feel so numb but so cold at the same time that he honestly craved a numbness to coat his feelings but he knew he'd get no such thing. The plug went in with steam rolling off the burning hot water but when his mother helped him undress without his consent and he grit his teeth when he entered the burning hot water that was a rare treat for them and he allowed his mother to scrub him head to foot knowing in her state she'd have no back talk and would quite literally drown him if he did so. 

"I love you, Alastor. Desperately, I love you, but you're father is outraged you ran away like you did and I'm scared of what he's going to do to you, Al. I don't know if I can stop him." She whispered staring at him with her identically colored eyes, so warm unlike his father's, and she stroked his cheek with her wet hand staring at him like he was going to disappear. "I love you, baby. Smile," She nudged the corner of his mouth with her soapy finger gently. 

"You're never fully dressed without one." He whispered the words back at her when a slight, weak smile curled over his lips unevenly like they were unused to the smile itself and his mother gave her own shaking smile back at him. "Don't worry, Mama, I'll be fine. I won't let him hurt you, this is my fault." She jerked him forward then pressing his wet face to her shoulder when an almost agonized moaning sound left her lips at his words and he swore he nearly felt tears. 

"He can hurt me, Alastor, through you. Every time he hurts you he hurts me." She whispered the words against his wet hair when she pushed him back providing a wobbly smile to her son. "Now, lets get you washed off and dressed before he gets home, okay? Don't look so afraid, baby, just smile for Mama. Seeing your smile brightens my day, it's so beautiful, magnetic. It's an enchanting smile any man could wish to have!" 

"Alright, Mama." He murmured the words when his mother scrubbed his hair then tilted his head back washing the locks thoroughly then allowing him to himself below the waist and was rinsing him off when he stood up with a slosh of water. She grabbed him a towel as he stepped out and she opened the bathroom door walking out dashing across the hall to his bedroom when he tightened his hands on the towel feeling sick again. 

His mother, his lovely, sweet mother was going to sleep on the bed his father used to have sex with another woman. It was disgusting. His mother came back helping him dry quickly as possible while being efficient he stepped into underwear and pants that clung to his legs with the humidity in the room, a shirt that stuck to his arms as well refusing to go on right but one he fought with until his hands shot out and he buttoned up the shirt tucking it in neatly. He let his mother towel dry his hair fiercely then brush it out with the comb they owned and he placed his glasses on his face looking into the mirror looking up at his mother who looked _terrified_. Then the door slammed open and slammed shut making her jump half out of her skin while Alastor felt those insects stirring and crawling beneath his skin making him swallow convulsively. He felt her slim hands grip his shoulders tightly while his father skulked downstairs, heavy hunting boots hitting the floor over and over like a predator pacing impatiently for it's kill to present itself. He and his mother looked ten times as pale than they normally did but he knew what he'd face the moment he got downstairs with his mother behind him and it made his heart jump with jagged thumps of what to come. 

"We'll be alright, baby." She murmured but her lips were frozen it seemed and barely brushed together to form the words when her wide eyes met Alastor's. She took his slim, small hand in hers squeezing it tightly while they walked out into the hall. "Don't you let go of my hand, you hear?" He nodded staring up at her squeezing her hand tightly, as tight as she held his, and they walked down the hall which made the stomping foot steps downstairs pause. Waiting. 

They walked down the stairs together side by side, squeezed tight and nearly falling over one another but made it down there where his father stood in the living room like an angry deity intent on getting his revenge. He smiled bitterly, a cruel twist of his lips when his dark flint cold eyes landed on Alastor who clung to his mother's hand ten times tighter than before. "Well, well. Alastor, my boy, where ever did you run off too earlier? I got worried when you jumped out of the window like that!" 

"I went out." He mumbled into his mother's side while she clung to his hand so fiercely he wanted to just burrow into her side when his father laughed heartily like this was some joke and not at all tense. Not at all humming with the malice that was radiating off of Samuel the way apprehensive fear was radiating off of Rose and Alastor by the stairs, eleven steps to the door where anything can happen from here to there. 

"You went out. That's what you did, huh?" His father questioned smiling so bitterly, so angrily he almost appeared to be friendly for once when he took a casual swinging step forward towards his wife and son. "You don't like your friends ma's comin' round here, huh? Too bad since she wanted to see you and your own mother but since you went out-" His words had been casual but then his mother gasped, seeming to see the intent but was far too late to act, which then turned into a guttural scream when Alastor was being yanked so fiercely away from his mother his wrist popped from her tight hold and he was being slammed onto the kitchen table with his father's face close to his own. 

" _Samuel! Stop it, let him go!_ " Rose screamed slapping her husband's back while Alastor stared into those cold eyes of his father's that bore no regret for his next actions, not a sliver. " _Let him go!_ " Faster than Alastor could comprehend his father twisted slapping his mother so hard the sound resulted from it didn't seem real and his foot, his booted foot, slammed into his mother's stomach when she doubled over sending half way across the room until she fell to the floor. Then he turned back to Alastor. 

" _ **I told you not a peep.**_ " He growled to his son when his hand lifted and one moment Alastor was staring at the trembling limb the next his face was exploding with pain and it rained on him. His face was on fire, his glasses spun off his face at some point and he was shoved to his feet only to have a boot slammed so hard into his stomach he felt popping of his ribs as they cracked. 

His insides were sore when the boot came down on his side seeming to intend that the ribs cracked for real and his boot came down hard on his leg. It started with a simple, muted cracking sound that had screams bursting out of his mouth when his father's leg lifted again and came down with a sickening crack and the scream that left his lips was inhuman. He was begging, he heard the words coming in a babbling stream between his screaming but he couldn't find the will to connect it with himself and he clung to his father's legs in hopes of getting him to let go but all it got him was a burning pain rippling through his wrist but it was pale compared to the pain in his leg which burned like hot coals had been set on his skin. He was screaming at his mother to help him but his father's fist was coming to his face again knocking him back when his mother's own screams began adding in begging Samuel to stop. Alastor smelled blood in the air, a copper twist to the air that was polluting his lungs and head with the scent when his head cracked on the floor whimpering to himself when his leg jerked. His eyes widened when the boot raised directly above his face and with his mother's screams transcending to shrieks it came down. Then it was black. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday I thought the worst of my problems was my messed up shoulder, right? Wrong on my part, horribly wrong. So I laugh at this a little bit but last night when I went to bed I woke up at three in the morning with a temperature of 102.4 that finally broke around 4 this afternoon. In short when I thought things couldn't get any worse I ended up catching the cold the rest of my family has been passing between each other. It sucks it's kind of got me wondering "What comes next" for if it's my shoulder now a horrible cold what else is going to happen? It's like I'm stuck in a loop of unfortunate events just waiting for something else to happen. So, here's the new chapter! I kinda had the energy tonight to actually write but I know I said I'd give my arm a break but my brain won't stop working and coming up with more chapter ideass. So after this I'm going to force myself to bed, for it'll still be here when I come back! Plus, I should really rest up so I can get better faster! 
> 
> So I should mention this too but there is some pretty heavily implied stuff half way in, at the break, so I'm putting a warning! If you are triggered, have experienced or know someone who has experienced sexual abuse please proceed with caution! Skip the part completely if you must!

It was so hard, when your whole body felt like it was mad out of lead, to open lashes that are light as feathers that suddenly felt as dense as weights on cheeks that refused to cooperate. He could hear a muffled wailing of a familiar voice but he felt so sleepy he just wanted to give back in to the blackness of numbing chills that he'd been craving in favor of forcing, trying to open his eyes. He was aware of many things like the scratchy sensation of the blanket against his tender skin which rubbed like sandpaper across his skin, the pounding of his head even if it was resting on such a soft but firm pillow beneath his head and the gentle tugging against his arm that kept him from moving it further. He could hear whimpering, quiet and under breath, to his side that he lolled his head towards forcing his heavy lashes up then proceeding to flinch from the sun outside the large bay window but forced his eyes to adjust when he looked at his mother. Oh, she was a wreck! Her mascara she normally prided herself on was leaking down her cheeks like a raccoon caught in the rain effect, her hair disheveled and piled in random assortment that was not at all like Rose Roberts who was always well put together around outsiders. Alastor stared at the woman he both did not and did recognize as his mother when he twitched his fingers struggling to clear his throat which sounded scratchy and sent jabbing pain in his throat. 

His mother gasped reaching out brushing his hair from his forehead placing kisses against it and his face softly, like butterfly wings caressing his wings and her wild locks of hair brushing his face like welcoming fingers. "Oh baby! Baby, baby, baby, my sweet little Alastor! I'm so happy to see your eyes open, I'm so so happy!" His mother was falling apart with hiccups leaving her pink lips while tears bloomed in her eyes as she softly brushed at his hair then smiled. "Such a fighter I have, huh? My little boy, pullin' through no matter what. Tougher than your daddy, that's for sure!" 

"Mama?" He spoke in a croak under her attacking lips to look around the room shivering softly against the bed when he looked around the room that smelled of chemicals so sharp they attacked his nostrils so fiercely he could taste them on his tongue. He rolled his head towards his mother looking at her groggily now when a wave of the sensation rolled over him and she gripped his little hand, fingers slim but covering half his hand perfectly. Her face was swollen, a bruise so darkly beautiful to him was gracing her perfect cheek like a painter had walked up to her and asked to use her face as a blending pallet of sad blues, vicious blacks and angry violets. He forced his lips apart sucking air into hungry lungs that expanded but demanded for more immediately. "Can I have something to drink?" 

"Of course!" She yelped jumping up running across the room plucking up a cup then walked carefully back, her heels clicking softly against the floors when she sat back down next to him and pressed the rim of her cup against his lips. Much like his lungs he greedily sucked the cold water down that sent shivers through him from the way it spread through his chest and pooled into his stomach yet he didn't stop until the last drop of water slid down his throat an he sighed. "There ya go, baby. You'll be okay from now on." 

"Where is he?" He croaked out looking around the pristine room again when his gaze went back to his mother which sent stabs of dread through him. Her face was so cheerful, so bright that he wanted to cringe away from it even if he wished countless times he'd see her happy like that he knew this time it was for the wrong reasons and he felt tears behind his eyes gathering. "Mama, no. We need to go, we need to find somewhere else, _anywhere_ else away from him-" 

"Shhh shh, baby. Hush, don't get yourself worked up when on those pain killers." Rose murmured to her son stroking locks of hair from his face when he flinched like she had been the one to place the throbbing insects in his body and he looked at her fiercely. It was like he could see her through glass, muted, but he could still hear her when she began speaking to him softly. "He didn't mean it, Al. Your Daddy's got an anger problem, you know that, but I ain't any better. I'm just as vile and angry as he is, Al. Where would we go anyhow? Ain't nobody going to hire a woman who ain't seen a day of work or a slip of pay! He won't hurt us no more, Alastor, he promised! He snapped right out of it when you-" 

"When he stopped on my face." He replied flatly looking at her but no longer connecting her bright hesitant face to the woman who had been screaming for Samuel to release her son. Certainly not the feral woman who had been slapped so hard she was now swollen and bruised on her face, nor the feral woman who had a solid kick by a full grown man to the stomach. This was not his mother but it was. 

"He won't touch you ever again, not in that way, baby. In fact, your daddy said when you get better and that mess on your leg comes off he's gonna take you huntin'! Don't that sound like fun, Al? Finally huntin' in the woods with your daddy like any good father and son!" Rose declared so proudly like she came up with the idea herself but those insects were humming, clicking along the underside of his skin and squirming along his nerves while nibbling at his bones. Would he be eaten from the inside out? He wondered this when her slim hands pressed against his cheeks, cupping his face gently and felt her wedding ring chilled and pressing against his skin softly. "Don't you worry about nothin', Al. Mama will take care of you, no matter what happens." 

"He's with other ladies, Mama. He's having sex with Mrs. Foster! And others!" He protested weakly looking at this glowing woman before him when she stroked his cheek bones with her thumbs softly as he stared at her anxiously. He didn't _want_ to go back there! He would _much_ rather stay here in this pristine room with it's sharp smells of chemicals than go back to a house in the woods were no one would hear their screaming pleads and their lives hung in the balance of the cold hearted Samuel Roberts. He just doesn't want to die. Not now. 

"We talked 'bout that, baby. He told me all 'bout it and we're goin' to see a marriage counselor here soon to work out our problems! Your daddy said he'd found one who deals with interracial marriages." She explained when Alastor stared at her mutely knowing anything else he said would be shot down or ignored while her hands fluttered to his blanket now, straightening it and tucking it in securely then hesitated at his casted leg. 

His toes stuck out at the bottom but it wrapped up to his knee, a bright white plaster that would fix his bone but it still hurt even with the pain killers trickling through his veins like promises best unspoken. He could still _feel_ his father's boot slamming into his leg breaking the bone. He could still hear the sick snapping that took two blows to fully break said bone and he still saw his own hand clinging to his father's leg like it would stop him or make him _see_ his son in pain. But his father never would. He could see that he didn't care for Alastor when that boot had been brought above Alastor's head and slammed down into his face knocking him out of this world for- he blinked realizing he had no clue what day it was. He looked to the window with wide eyes, frantic for some kind of anchor to time him to reality and his fingers clawed the blankets that he then clung too. The sky was jewel blue bright with not a cloud in the sky while the sun shined on every possible area greedily and not a pool of water marred the ground to prove it had been raining the day his father punished him. Was it-Was it not real? He felt his face paling debating this but he had so many facts on his side! The sickening snap of bone, the way he'd shuddered in the hot bath from the chilled rain that had pounded their roof, the bitter smile gracing his father's face. 

"What day is it?" Alastor whispered staring out the window as a fine tremble came over his hands and body like he was chilled to the bone rather than warmer than he remembered being. He would have yanked himself out of the bed had the needle not begun tugging against arm, wriggling in his vein and his leg elevated in a sling connected to the ceiling. 

"Al, baby-" 

_"What day is it!"_ He screamed the words so viciously it didn't sound a bit like himself that it scared him when he stared at his taken aback mother then to the window his teeth beginning to chatter together. It was though the chill of those rainy days were seeping through his body taking up as much space as it could to chill him straight to his very being and it had him shuddering fiercely. He felt clammy, cold and his breath was hitching without his permission when he stared at his casted leg wondering if he was going insane for his mother still hasn't _given him an answer_ -

"It's been a week, baby." Rose replied quietly looking at her son who was staring down at his leg incredulously then looked up mouthing numbers or words she had no clue when his hands gripping his hair. The shoved deep into the locks and clutched them when his wide eyes, pupils now enlarging, looked right at her like he was begging her to be lying and she felt tears in her eyes. "It's been a week, Alastor." 

Her words snapped something precious, something so delicate he hadn't known it was there, cracked inside of him. He tried to stop his breathes that came fast as though he'd run miles before sitting in the bed and he clawed his scalp trying to piece it together for _something was wrong wrong wrong_ with him! Just like a child easily tossing a glass bowl to the floor Alastor shattered and his lips parted, trembling when he looked at his mother then bowed his head towards his chest and screamed.

* * *

_He knew he needed to wake up. He knew he needed to console the sobbing leaving her lips but he felt a crawling sensation that could only mean one thing. His father. He wanted him to go away which gave him the glorious idea to fake sleep for wherever he was in this place, his father couldn't hurt him right? This was just a dream! Just a dream, dream, dream~! Alastor could have sighed from joy when he heard his mother softly weeping but he felt the brush of his familiar bed sheets around him, the soft fabric caressing his bare arms and leg like soft whispered promises he would be okay. The pillow beneath him was softer than a marshmallow and melded directly to the side of his face like a memory had imprinted itself into the pillow to make him that much more comfortable. In fact he felt like he was slipping into the mattress which was greedily gobbling him up and for a moment he had no fears, no worries and he could just BE._

_Maybe that's why when the weeping left him with glorious silence the shifting of clothing on a frame moving got him hyper alert when the smell of booze permeated his perfect world and he nearly gagged but held it down with a simple clenching of his jaw. Let them think he was in pain! He didn't want to leave this world where everything was both real and unreal in it's soft sensations. Alastor could float here in a cool air current where he was no lighter than a leaf, blowing around his room, melting into his bed when he so wished that if he didn't hear that weeping lady it would have been even more perfect. If he didn't smell that booze that was so strong now he'd have the perfect utopia. That's when he felt it. Finger's lightly caressing the edge of the cast underneath the blanket making him frown just a touch but his eyes were so heavy he couldn't even imagine the pain of opening them and leaving this blissful world! Oh, he could stay here for **ever!** He wanted too! It was his own universe and he could decide what happened and place himself on top of the pyramid above all others. **He** was the perfect apex predator and even his **father** cowered before him! _

_He wanted to shake his leg when he felt fingers sliding upwards in soft circles that made his brows crease but he was still floating happily and dreamily, soaking into the bed like he was a mere drop of water. But those fingers! Oh, they were ruining this! Just **where** were they going anyways? He felt them on the inside of his thigh gently nudging his legs apart when his perfect utopia cracked before his eyes sucking the warmth out of him and leaving a frigid bite that had him shaking. Quivering. The fingers! They were- no, stop!- going up and- Mama! Mama! Help, Mama!- going **there** and-and-and he was drowning! Drowning drowning drowning and it was so black and cold and where was Mama? Where was she? He felt those fingers on him and he was screaming wanting to writhe and buck them off of him but his body was no longer that sanctuary of him melting into the bed but instead was held there by cold chains that held him prisoner. The fingers on him burned and sizzled down into him to never be removed and the Utopia was a nightmare garden. The fingers were like worms, wriggling against his skin and someone was panting quietly in his ear and the realist thing he felt was a tear streaking itself down his temple into his hair._

* * *

When his eyes drifted opened easily, perfectly smooth, they were watery with the film of tears resting there when he looked to his side where his mother was sleeping in the chair next to his bed. Her back arched a few times like it hurt to be sleeping there and he blinked the tears away sitting up on his arm reaching out touching the back of her hand making her whole body jerk like lightening went through it. Her brown eyes were nearly golden in the moonlight with her amount of shock that then relaxed into the warm shade Alastor memorized well and he felt like it was just too much ranging from his body pain, the pain in his face he'd messed and his heart was thumping around jagged pieces of glass and he was ripped asunder. He felt tears dripping on his cheeks when he reached out for her gasping in a sob that was foreign to his ears for Alastor Roberts did _not_ cry. His father pounded it into him millions of times when he'd dared teared up in front of his grandfather or his father which got him the line of "he was a man, a Roberts man, and a Roberts man does not cry" and he should "Stop being a sniveling little bitch and get used to it". He hiccuped into her chest, pressing his face tight against her chest where her breasts became his tissue and pillow as he openly wept the only way a seven year old riddled with pain and fear could. His mother normally hushed him when his father was in the house but the fact she didn't promised Alastor it was okay to cry, to get it out of him before it drowned him alive and he wailed into her chest which was quickly becoming a mess.

It was hot from his breath, his tears and the snot pouring from his nose that he tried to sniff away but poured over his top lip marring his mother's pristine white dress and drool was rolling down his chin from his open wails. He was leaking but it felt so _good_ to get it outside of him. And so he kept sobbing until he was hiccuping so hard his mother rattled with his movements but stroked his brown locks of hair softly while he emptied himself of tears and agonized pain that throbbed through him still. He knew it was a pain that would never go away and he would live with it for years. He was shaking from the intensity of his crying feeling shame mixing in for sullying his mother's dress with his tears and snot but he couldn't help it! He hiccuped when he was pulling away and his mother plucked a tissue holding it to his nose rather than brushing her dress off and he blew fiercely into the tissue making a soft smile curl over her lips. She threw the heavy, wet tissue away then grabbed another wiping under his wet eyes, down his cheeks, across his chin and tilted his head by the chin pressing a kiss to his tear stained cheek. His mother smelled like lilac and honey, scents that wafted in his head slow like some kind of stew and he shut his eyes inhaling her scent that he could pick out above anyone.

"It's okay, baby. You'll be just fine, I promise!" His mother whispered the words fiercely to him then pecked his forehead softly when she stroked his hair off of his clammy forehead. "I'm glad you got it all out, baby. I was startin' to get worried! You rarely cry, even when you were a tiny baby you never cried around your Daddy and I was gettin' worried. All these women were sayin' a cryin' baby and toddler were normal in the development but here my baby was, just taking everythin' so coolly, so calmly, it was like I gave birth to a grown man rather than you! My beautiful little boy, I loved you from day one." 

"I know, Mama!" He mumbled when he was then getting crushed to her breasts again when he held his breath when his cheek pressed to the wet mess of her chest but he inhaled her scent again. Mama, his savior, who'd love him no matter what. "I loved you too, Mama." She pulled back looking at him curiously when he beamed a brilliant smile at her, so realistically charming she was disarmed for a moment. "I loved you from the very moment I came out." 

Her surprise melted away when she smiled brilliantly at her son, flashing the dimples he had no doubt inherited from her, and jerked forward carefully pushing him to his side while the both of them giggled joyfully. His leg remained still and he noticed crutches by his doorway and smiled when his mother's sweet smelling hair brushed in front of his nose and she squeezed him tight for a moment. "I'll love you no matter _what_ , baby. Okay?" 

He held his breath for a moment looking up at his mother with wide eyes before he flashed another smile, renewing his fading one and his cheeks ached just a touch but his mother was smiling so happily how could he not? He reached up twirling a lock of her dark hair around his finger and smiled brightly at her continuously when he then leaned back against his pillows. His skin was crawling with the tainting touches he'd dreamed of, only he knew they were real. Just like he felt something important inside of him break at that hospital, a piece of him his father found and destroyed with zero mercy. Now that the tears were out of him, that broken sadness, Alastor felt something knew bubbling inside of him that whispered and would not be pushed down, ignored or locked away for another moment. It spread through his limbs and he beamed at his mother when he then chose to shut his eyes like he was about to sleep. "Okay, Mama. I love you too. Good night!" 

"Night, baby." She replied bending to kiss his cheek which he peeked through his lashes at before giving her another smile but unlike the others this one sent...shivers down her spine. It was like his father's smile slipped through for just a second but Rosemary Lilian Roberts would never, ever, forget that night when she'd seen the wolf-like look in her son's eyes that promised, one day, would eat her and her husband up. But that's silly! She shut his bedroom door behind her and walked down the hall to the stairs walking down them slowly before stopping in the middle staring down at the remaining four steps. It _was_ silly, of course it was! Right? 


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I went to the doctors again! I had my very first nasal swap which is just as uncomfortable as it sounds because the doctor thinks I might have the flu. It sucks but I was able to grab some Dayquil and Nightquil at the store which has worked marvels already! And I have cough drops for the moment until I get the results tomorrow on if I have the flu or not. But let's to focus on my low-key dying! I won't lie when I reread the last chapter I wrote I was surprised cause while I remember writing it I couldn't remember a single thing I'd written about funny as that is! But I'm glad still that I got a chapter out even if I felt like I was dying but I'm proud of it! Also, I'm in a very good mood for the Dayquil truly is a blessing and I was able to write and get it out! Enjoy the new chapter! :D
> 
> P.S - I looked up how to skin a deer on wikiHow so that's where I got the information on it! Just thought I'd mention that!

There was many things Alastor could say he liked and disliked about their home in the woods in the following order. He liked the small kitchen where everything was compact, hated the thin walls. He liked the secluded area of the woods that hid them from questioning eyes, he hated how he felt smothered most days. Alastor liked that he could be alone when his father went hunting. He hated it when his mother was away from them for any number of hours or days for some reason. Sitting in the kitchen with the rough wood of the chair digging into the backs of his thighs his crutches were resting on the table next to him while his mother hummed quietly by the stove making breakfast as she did every other morning, brushing her fingers through his hair when she went by. The sky was a bright blue that held many promises and unlimited day light to do what needed to be done but Alastor was unable to do as he wanted, at least not for another six to eight weeks he couldn't. The longest weeks stretching ahead of him painfully slow and dreary like the days upon leaving the hospital but one thing he was truly grateful for was his father being absent from the thin walled house stating he needed to "Go huntin' so you have more to cook, Ro, and show that one over there how a real man gets shit done" and promptly left. That was three days ago and he was close to rejoicing on the thought his father was dead, gone forever, and it made the smile on his lips all the more natural when he thought of his father possibly being mauled or hurt severely deep in the woods where no one could hear HIS calls for help or screams of anguish. 

Alastor was scraping his bowl to get the last remaining spoonful of grits into his spoon when he popped it in his mouth following it with his orange juice when he heard boots on the porch outside making his heart freeze. The door slammed open revealing his father who came trudging in through the door with not a scratch on him, sadly, and the man breathed heavily before looking at Alastor pointing at him. "You. Come with me, boy. I'm teachin' ya how to skin and prep these little things for your Mama to cook us for lunch and dinner. Let's go."

Alastor felt his mother go still behind him and Alastor twisted looking up at her while her lips pursed slightly staring at the muddy soles of her husband's boots marring her perfectly clean floor. The seven year old felt spasms of apprehension shooting through his veins at the thought of being alone with this man. Especially knowing he'd learn how to finally do such a thing to animals he wasn't sure he wanted to be alone with his easily angered father while he held a knife. "Mama-?" 

_"I said come here! Now! "_ Samuel's voice boomed through the room when he grabbed the hunting knife he had resting right by his chair testing the edge lightly not at all like a man who was bellowing. Alastor was regretting eating now but grabbed his crutches tucking them under his arms wobbling forward on the crutches, unused to them and his father patted his shoulder roughly. "Let's go to the shed. It'll be easier out there when I get'em all set up." 

"Okay." He replied to his father slowly, softly almost with a wavering smile when his father's heavy boots crossed the floor without waiting for Alastor to play catch up when the boy tried following the pace of his father's feet. Being as he wasn't used to crutches and walking with only one foot Alastor was struggling to get out the door when he felt a cold prick in his chest wondering if he truly was such a good idea to be alone with his father who was prone to anger fits and now held the sharpest hunting knife in the entire house. He got outside with his mother clearing dishes like she wasn't associated with what may or may not take place but Alastor got down the porch steps and began hobbling around the house. 

In the back they had a small shed, not huge, but a shed that obviously held enough items inside for gardening and brooms for sweeping off the porch but it was decent sized if his father was skinning and cutting up animals back there. He wobbled on the uneven dirt path while his bare toes were tickled by the dirt and fallen leaves on the ground while pushing most of his weight on the crutches which dug into his arm with painful pinches but got to the shed he did. The woods were suspiciously silent today for there was the hum of a cicada yet nor the twitters of birds which gave the chilling feeling that they were silent, breathes held, like something inevitably horrible was about to take place. Getting to the shed, dirt tickling his toes and the air lightly tugging at his clothes and hair bringing that scent that was indistinguishably the wood around him, he was tired by the time he got to the door of the shed. He got the door open, propped it with his shoulder and struggled up the stairs while shifting his crutches to one hand and bringing his casted leg up. It was hard, harder than anything to keep the door open while wobbling inside but he did so with his father's cold eyes taking in his struggling movements so intently Alastor felt a bit like a predator being sized up for his own irritation bristled when he got into the shed. He tucked the crutches under his arms hobbling forward to his father. 

"Alrighty, then." His father grunted when he unsheathed the hunting knife gesturing to the deer with his knife that glinted almost menacingly. "You wanna cut from the chest starting right here, below the brisket midway and stop just above the hip bone like this." Alastor marveled at how cleanly the knife slid along the deer's soft pelt that opened grotesquely but cleanly when his father placed the knife down all while he watched wide eyed. "Now, hand me that bucket there." Moving quick Alastor handed it to his father who then tugged his sleeves above his elbows. "Before you can skin it you need to get rid of the internal organs to prevent contamination, make sure not to puncture or cut through them at any point, okay?" 

"Okay!" Why he sounded so firm, so dazzled Alastor had no clue but every bit of this seemed to be burning into his mind when he watched his father's hands pluck the organs out one by one. The scarlet of blood marred his hands which tinged the air with it's familiar metallic scent with each wet plop into the bucket that made Alastor's head spin but fascination was burning like a star in his mind. His father, a brute and drunk, was doing this with such precision he couldn't help but marvel at the perfection of his movements making Alastor watch attentively. "Now what?" 

His father looked over his shoulder and smirked widely at the seven year old and nudged his forehead with his elbow. "Curios now, huh?" Samuel commented then slid the bucket away when he then flipped the deer on it's back. "You want to open the skin on the front leg joints, so watch me carefully. Use one hand to push on one of these front legs backwards to reveal the joint which is right there, in the middle of it's leg." He picked up the hunting knife with his free hand, peeking at Alastor out of the corner of his eye. "Use medium pressure on this join but cut around the circumference of the leg and repeat it with other leg. Remember always use shallow cuts 'cause if ya use too deep a cut you can cut through meat and tendons but start with the shallow cuts but you can go deeper when you get comfortable with all this." 

"Alright!" Alastor breathed the word out leaning forward to get a better view, mesmerized by the scarlet marring everything and tainting the air but his eyes were focused on his father's hands. The wood of the shed was rough, rougher than the houses wood, under his bare foot but it was easy to ignore when awe was sliding through him like bubbling lights. "And then what do you do? Do you skin it now?" 

"Not yet. See that bone saw over there?" Samuel pointed to the saw hanging on the wall next to them and smirked at his son. "Hand it here." Alastor moved all too readily to grab the saw, marveling at it's sharp teeth of it's serrated edge and handed it to his father. "You know that knee joint? You gotta saw right through it, right at the center keep in mind. You gotta do this too with the other leg, obviously, but since the legs don't don't got much fur and very little meat it's fine to toss them out. If you don't have a bone saw, like what we have, or don't wanna dull up a knife you can snap the leg at the joint and you gotta do it quick while holding the upper leg but it should break cleanly and easily." 

"Cool! When do you skin it?" Alastor asked with wide eyes when his father dunked his hands in a bucket of water Alastor failed to see upon entering the shed and the boisterous laughter leaving his father was strange. It wasn't cold or forced but genuinely happy or joyful when a hand was rustling up his hair in the same manner. His neck hurt from the rough hair rubbing but while the clicking insects below his skin buzzed he was too awed by the sight before him to truly be disgusted by the touches. 

"You want to cut down the inside of the rear legs first so you have to find the knee joint on one of the rear legs and put the point of the knife right here," He placed it above three inches above it and looked at Alastor again. "Cut down to the hip bone and keep going until you get to the base of the first cut that was made then do this with the other leg which leaves you with this Y shape, see?" 

"Yeah. And now do you cut off the rear legs or something?" Alastor questioned on a breath staring at the movements of his father's hands then looked to the window where the sky was burning a bright sapphire but for the first time he didn't feel uneasy to be alone with his father. That doesn't mean he was letting his guard down though."I didn't know you had to do so much to get meat." 

"Yes! It is a lot but it's the huntin' part that takes a lot of practice, skill and patience! Now keep listenin', Al." Alastor nearly jumped out of his skin at the use of his nickname on his father's lips when the man hummed low in his throat, a random melody that was familiar in a way. "You gotta firmly grasp the corner of skin on the outside of the cuts between the first one and one of the leg incision and begin pulling it backward. See how that works? You have to do this with both sides, obviously, and if for some reason it isn't coming off easily from the meat you can use the sharp edge of the knife to slice it apart and keep on going. Get it, got it?" 

Alastor nodded so fiercely his glasses almost flew off of his little face but he got another head pat when his father rinse his hands off once again and he smiled brightly at the man. He looked more relaxed than Alastor had ever seen him, so calm in fact that it would be chilling if another had been viewing it. "Got it!" 

"Good! Now, let's speed this up a bit so you're Mama can get this seasoned and marinated for dinner and fry some up for lunch." He gave Alastor a little wink when he then picked up the knife again with an ease Alastor hoped to have. "Like with the front legs, use the tip of the knife to locate the center of the joint in the middle of this back leg 'cause this is the softest and easiest part. Just start cuttin' on until the foreleg splits away and just like the front legs these back legs snap pretty easily too but you gotta be careful to avoid cuttin' the tendon on these rear legs. We use that space to hang this bad boy up on the gambrel to hoist this bad boy up. Ready for that?" 

"Yes!" Alastor cried the word before he could thoroughly reflect on how excited he was for this part when his father smirked widely at his son with pure amusement and slid the hunk of meat off the table. He grunted jerking upwards hanging the deer onto the gambrel, pulling on it when he got it situated then grinned placing his hands on his hips. "Now do we skin it?" 

"Almost, Al!" Samuel laughed when he rubbed Alastor's hair once more sending a little trill through the boy at the use of his nickname once again. It sounded different in his father's booming baritone, so unlike his mother's soft but high voice. "We have to start with removin' the pelt. Now, we start near the base of the legs and start peelin' the skin backward an outward from the chest cavity, so hand me my knife cause this ain't gonna be easy." Alastor handed his father the hunting knife which gained him another bright grin and Alastor marveled at the movements, so precise for such large hands that hurt him and his mother countless times but seemed so careful now. "Okay, see that silverish layer? You wanna try and separate the skin from that but leave it attached to the muscle 'cause that's gonna make the skinnin' easier." 

"Wow, this seems....hard but easy!" Alastor got out with that wide eyed look, he was sure of it, but his father was smiling at him widely like he was proud of Alastor for the first time in his seven years of life. Just because this felt like a bonding moment Alastor wasn't truly connecting it to his father rather he was filing it away for all of this seemed very important and something he needed to remember. He had to remember this process! "Will it be easier now getting the skin off? Or do you not do that?" 

"Watch, Al." Samuel smiled widely taking in his son's enthusiastic reaction when he firmly grabbed the flap of skin at the chest cavity and behind the rear legs. "You gotta pull it just like that and-" He cut off speaking for a moment pulling it upward and backward over the hipbone of the deer and folded behind the body peeling it away until skin could be seen coming away from the tail and revealing the tailbone. "Voila! Ready for the next part?" 

"Absolutely!" Alastor cried with enthusiasm so clear in his voice that even the cabin seemed to shiver with apprehension and he smiled widely watching his father with unabashed interest. The older man smiled down at Alastor with something akin to affection which nearly sent Alastor into a fit of laughter but he bit it down, shoving it deep in his chest when he started at his father. "Do it!" 

"Alright, once you pull the skin back as close to the tailbone as you can manage it reveals the softest part of that bone right at the base. You just gotta cut it away to separate it away from the rest of the body and there ya have it!" Samuel looked to his son once more feeling a tiny prick of something in his chest, an unnameable instinct when he stared at that rapt enthusiastic interest on the seven year old's face but he shoved it away. Every boy remembers when his father shows him how to skin a deer, nothing too it. "You keep peelin' the skin down to the head, usin' one hand to firmly hold the loose skin away from the carcass keep your other hand in a loose fist to push it down between the skin and meat to separate it. You gotta continue that until you reach the front legs and as you do it be sure to keep one hand on the skin and the other for workin' close to the meat 'cause it helps prevent any hair from transferrin' to the meat and dirtyin' it." 

Alastor found he didn't have anything of interest to say right then due to the awe budding in his chest that was spreading warmth to the insects crawling below his skin with each casual touch of his father but it was easy to ignore when he stared at his father skinning the animal. To think something so complicated was appearing so easy to the seven year old when he blinked adjusting his glassing knowing for sure his father would want him to pay attention to what he was doing but Alastor had one budding question he had to hold down causing him to bite his lip for a second as he stared at the nearly bald carcass hanging before him. He shifted his weight on the crutches when his father grunted softly, almost under his breath like he didn't want to show any signs of exertion before the seven year old and Alastor almost laughed out loud again. 

"So now what you have to do is strip the skin over the front legs which is easy and think of it as mimicin' how you take off a sock at the end of the day. Just pull it down evenly while you do it. Simple enough of the whole damn process. Now what you wanna do next is cut the skin open to reveal the head and neck, as the head is most definitely covered by the removed skin You gotta start at the top of the first incision you made and cut up along the loose skin towards the base of the neck, like this, see?" Samuel took a peak at Alastor who was staring with an intensity so ferocious that tiny instinct pricked inside of him once more like it was trying to warn him but he had nothing to fear. He'd gotten Alastor to submit, hadn't he? He was the alpha in this family and Alastor knew his place. So why was he getting these little pricks of panic now? Why does it feel like he's doing something horribly wrong by showing his son how to skin a deer? "Keep in mind too that if you wanna preserve the head for mountin' then you need to keep both that and the neck in good condition. Now, watch where I'm cuttin', towards the base of the neck see? The skin is still intact around the neck for right now." 

Alastor nodded vigorously feeling his fingers itching to take the blade from his father to try it himself but he kept reminding himself he had to sit, he had to wait and he had to be patient for the time being. Surely, soon enough, he'd be skinning his own food to eat and he'd do an even better job than his father no matter how precise his father's hands just so happened to be. Taking a peek at the sky outside Alastor wondered if time was standing still from that bright blue sky that refused to change shade to signal some time passing and the boy shifted once more on his crutches when he grimaced. His leg was sore from standing so long but he didn't want to complain now, not while he was alone with his father and he wanted to keep going on with this lesson. He rubbed his eye beneath his glasses lens and stared at the carcass marveling, yet again, at how smooth it all worked like clay beneath his father's hands and blade that was by this point an extension of his father's hands it seemed. 

"There's a few more things that I need to do before we can begin cuttin' off the meat from the carcass. Anythin' else you wanna know about, Al?" Samuel questioned placing his hands on his hips, knife winking at Alastor like it was some kind of co-conspirator and he bit the inside of his cheek. Oh, so many questions he had! The most important one to hum kept nudging over and over but he ignored it the way most seven year old's could ignore the many questions they had and he tilted his head just a bit. 

"You're going to cut off the meat right? For lunch and dinner?" He asked getting a nod of affirmation from his father when he then fidgeted with his crutches digging into his armpits when he considered his next question staring at the second deer carcass laying on the floor, fully intact. "Well, er..." 

"Spit it out, boy! What do you want to do next? What else do you wanna know?" His father barked the words like he was trying to impose authority over the seven year old who stared up at him as evenly as one would look upon a peer of their own age. It was unsettling to say the least when Alastor appeared bashful looking down at the floor or to his cast, Samuel wasn't sure, but the boy then shuffled again with the crutches nearly sliding under his arm. He looked up again, after a few silent moments, through his lashes and over the rims of his glasses looking for all the world like his mother. 

"Well, can I do the next one? Pretty please? Just to try?" Alastor asked using his sweetest tone he could muster up in his body, smoothing over his father like honey and he could see the effect it had making him want to smirk for everything in the world. But he held it down like any other question he had in his body when he shuffled again trying to keep up the bashful act when his father cleared his throat and Alastor pretended that his attention had diverted only to be brought back to him. So so easy. To think his father thought himself clever! 

"Come here then. I'll help ya when you need it, alright? You just let me know if you need any help." Samuel grumbled out lifting the next carcass onto the table then lifting Alastor on a foot stool putting him at the same height as Samuel. He couldn't name it but like those other stabs of instincts Samuel felt a sour sensation curling in his stomach when he saw the excitement glowing on the seven year old's face when Samuel pressed the hunting knife in his small thin hand. Watching his son slice into the deer carcass, however, perfectly copying Samuel's previous movements he felt a chill. His son didn't cut into the deer like an inexperienced child, like he had expected, no, Alastor cut into that deer with such perfect precision it was as if the seven year old had been doing it for years. And maybe he was going just a little nuts but Samuel swore there was something other than excitement in Alastor's face but it was gone too fast for him to identify but was there just long enough to send chills down his spine.

* * *

"There's my boys! Did you have fun gettin' the meat for Mama, Alastor?" Rose questioned when Alastor hobbled into the house grinning brightly and hugely at his mother when she noticed the blood on the edges of his shirt and near the collar of his shirt making her fidget slightly. "Did you have fun spendin' time with your Daddy, Al?" 

"Yup! And I learned a lot so when I get better he's going to take me hunting and teach me how to do that too! He said being seven is never too early to learn how to hunt! And he's going to teach me how to leave snares to catch rabbits and teach me how to skin those!" Alastor babbled excitedly when Rose's eyes shifted to Samuel entering the house as she wiped her hands on the dish towel in her hands. "And guess what, Mama! He said I could go to public school too! If I walk early early in the morning he said I could make it there by the time the school opened!" 

"That's amazin' news, darlin'! I'm so happy you get to go! It's been your dream to go to public school for a long time, huh?" She questioned walking around the table wrapping her son up into a hug pressing his face to her chest where she stroked his soft hair for a moment or two before pulling away looking into his face which shined. "Why don't you go on and wash up, change out of that shirt for me, and I'll have a surprise for you when you get back down here! Sound good?" 

"Perfect!" He beamed hobbling to the stairs and tucking both of his crutches under both arms he began to slowly drag himself up the stairs while Samuel marched over to the fridge pulling out a slim brown bottle slamming the top against the counter. The top popped off falling to the floor tinkling softly as it skittered across the floor and she scowled at him. Samuel had promised Rose that the moment Alastor got home he'd quit drinking and treat the boy like he was his son or else she'd walk right to her family home and that would be that. She'd delivered the ultimatum finally and he hadn't liked it one bit. Oh how he ranted! Screamed and threatened but in the end she won the situation and he'd been doing quite well when he was around, if speaking in grunts and groans was communicating with a child. 

When Alastor had gone out of view Samuel sat down in his usual chair rotating the hunting knife around in his palm the way a person would casually stroke a cat and she watched him with such intensity it would put a hawks gaze to shame. "Somethin' ain't right with that boy, Ro." Samuel grumbled when he tilted the bottle back taking a low swallow while she glared at him, watching his Adam's apple bob with each swallow he took. She calculated about five solid chugs before he dropped it from his lips revealing half a bottle left and she knew he'd go for another bottle in a second. 

"You say that all the time about our boy, when will you let it drop? The doctors have given him a clean bill of health each and every time we can afford a doctors visit! Why do you keep on insistin' that there's something wrong with him?" Rose asked turning her back to her husband when she felt the dagger stare of his glare and she opened the fridge considering their ingredients for dinner and pursed her lips softly staring in then looking over her shoulder shutting the door while crossing her arms. "What could possibly be wrong with Alastor?" 

"It's not physical, Ro. I know that better than anyone! There's something," He hesitated, true and genuine, then tapped his temple softly. "Not right up here with him. I'd say I'm worried 'bout him but I still don't believe he's mine. But he mighta proved something's right today with his skill with a knife that proved he could be mine but there was somethin' in his face that you weren't there to see. He looked...too excited 'bout cuttin' up that deer carcass, Ro. He did it all so perfectly that it was scary to witness and then he begged me to take him huntin' so he could try that too. Somethin' 'bout him having a gun just gives me the willies." 

"Oh, stop it! Alastor is a perfectly healthy boy, perfectly sound in mind and body, so you drop it! He's been through a great trauma, as the doctor said, and I can see why, Sam. You 'bout killed your own son! What could he have truly done to deserve what you did to him? 'cause he ran away from home for an afternoon of you fucking Vivian Foster?" Her voice was rising before she could help it and veins began standing out in Samuel's neck already when Rose slammed her hands into the table smiling menacingly. "Oh, maybe it was Florence Barner! I know how you have that weak spot for pretty blondes!" 

"I told you, Ro, get off my shit bout it! It was one time with Viv and I had been with Florence _long_ before you came into the picture!" Samuel snapped pointing at his wife who narrowed her eyes on the jabbing finger making his skin crawl fiercely. If that's how she wanted it to be tonight then so fucking be it! He stood up swinging his arms out then looked at his wife. Oh, how she longed to rip that falsely pathetic look off his face. "I wouldn't have to go 'round fucking other women if you would just give it to me a little more!" 

"That ain't how marriage works, Sam! I don't have to give my body out to you like I'm some kinda hooker!" Rose shrieked at him then looking all too ready to rip his throat out when she slammed her hands on the table top again. "I could handle you still sleepin' with Florence behind my back when we first got together. Fine! I could take that and the whispers! But now you think you can fuck Florence, Vivian and Nora Rosebush without me givin' two shits 'bout what those women in town whisper 'bout me? I married _you_ , Sam! I had no one else! I had no other options because I set my hopes and my heart on _you!_ Now you think you can sleep around then flop 'round here sayin' there's somethin' wrong with our boy? You are out of your damn mind, Samuel Silas Roberts!" 

"How the fuck did this go from somethin' bein' seriously wrong with that boy to me fuckin' other women?" Samuel roared at her throwing the bottle down where it hit the ground with a muted thud and he glared at the woman before him. "You're just tryin' to change the subject 'cause you don't wanna face the facts that you gave birth to a disturbin' retarded ass kid! Quit changing the subject! Choose one goddamn thing to focus on you fuckin' bitch!" 

_"Fuck you, Samuel!"_ She shrieked when there was a loud clattering sound from the top of the stairs followed by quick shuffling and the rather firm but harsh slamming of a bedroom door up there making her breath clog in her throat with the guilt swarming quickly into her chest. Alastor probably just has the best day with his father and here he and she were ready to tear out each others throats! She just ruined his good day! What kind of mother ruined a good day for her child? "I hate you so much right now, Samuel Roberts. I don't wanna see your face right now, get the hell out of here." 

"Gladly." He spit out marching to the door opening it and, with a dramatic thudding of his boots, slammed the door behind himself clomping off of the porch steps to the crunching debris beneath his boots. Rose took a deep breath then bowed her head fighting off the tears that burned and stung at her eyes and justly so for what she'd just pulled then for she knew the truth. She knew it from the moment Alastor had screamed in the intensive care and they had to sedate him that something was horribly wrong with her little boy and she especially knew it when he'd sobbed like he did then seemed to ready to be alone. But was she right though? Did she really know if something was wrong with him? She had no clue but one thing was for sure and it was that something between the three of them, this small family, had been thrown asunder and Rose wasn't sure she could patch it up this time. 


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last two or three days have been a fucking NIGHTMARE. Literally! So, it started with I got the results that I do not have the flu, thank god, but I have a pretty bad ear infection that I am now taking azithromycin for but I've been sleeping A LOT. Now, I pride myself on always saving a document before I shut the laptop and the night before I passed out I do believe a piece of my soul died for I had just laid down in bed, on the brink of sleep, when the horrifying truth washed over me. I. Did. Not. Save. I wrote half a chapter and forgot to save itt! I firmly believe I slept so long because that part of my soul died when I had this realization. But it might have been fever too for I had quite a few weird fever dreams with the guest stars of Alastor and Angel? It made no sense but I liked the dreams weird as that sounds. But I seriously died inside when I didn't save half the chapter I wrote. Stupid move on my part! But good news and irritating news! My new laptop is in! Irritating part? It's been raining and the delivery dude threw it on the back porch where it's been outside for God knows how long and the entire box was practically soaked. It's a miracle the laptop wasn't damaged! But I am now, coughing and yet feeling better, getting this chapter out! 
> 
> So, with my late timing with writing, here's the new chapter! :D

Time flies by when you don't see the bad things or focus on the negative things. Alastor tried to do just that and the weeks of his leg being in a cast flew by in the blink of an eye it would seem, and he absolutely adored it. He was able to go on his first hunting trip with his father proving that, low and behold, he was a natural with a gun when he managed to take down a deer without much help from his father who just watched on silently. Alastor was able to boast to his playmates just how great he was with a one shot from a gun and was “way better than his father so far” not that many were impressed or believed his first hunting story but Alastor would never forget it. The way they trudged through the woods, him following silently in each step his father took, until his father pointed out a deer just a length ahead of them across a tiny stream and Alastor could see the patters in the hide of the deer and when he lifted his gun he felt a thrill. That thrill turned into shivers that rolled over Alastor with satisfaction when he pressed down on the trigger taking out the deer in one go which his father states “should be impossible for a boy your age to do” but he did it. He even got to skin the deer on his own! He’d been excited ever since to go on another hunting trip but it seemed whenever he asked his father the man would state that he “already got it done and he didn’t need any more meat for a good while and to quit buggin’ him about it”.

That’s when he stopped asking but kept hope he’d get to go again with his father and spend “quality time” as his mother often put it. But that’s where it came full circle on that September 13th afternoon, just two weeks short of his birthday and him starting school, that he was saying goodbye to the boys behind him and rushing into the woods that swallowed him up. With the idea of turning eight years old in just a mere two weeks had Alastor excited like no tomorrow at the thought of being a whole year older but also getting stronger as well. His mother now started making him afternoon snacks stating that “he was a growin’ boy and he needed a little somethin’ in between lunch and dinner” which is where he was high tailing it too. He sprinted along the path of leaves and twigs that snapped beneath his shoes like tiny whispers he was almost home which seemed now more like a sanctuary than the prison it had once been. Both parents so tightly bound around his fingers was easier than he could have expected! Maybe his father was so much as wrapped around his finger as he was being crushed beneath Alastor’s thumb in the recent weeks.

Slowing to a walk Alastor cringed when his leg protested with a deep twinge of pain that made him curse beneath his breath. It wasn’t smart, he knew, to run so shortly after getting his cast removed a mere hand full of weeks ago for even the doctor had said he would have to take it easy, but he hadn’t done that truly. So in his walk he would take a couple of large steps to speed himself up to get home just a bit quicker for his father was out hunting which meant Alastor would get his mother’s undivided attention for a single afternoon which he adored more than anything. Just to be a little spoiled by his mother’s affection was nice for his father now stated that Alastor was going to be eight years old and now was the time to “stop being such a little Mama’s boy and time to start bucklin’ up his big boy pants and grow the fuck up” but Alastor still clung to his mother when he could. She was his mother! How could he not cling to her just a little bit? He loved her and wanted to show it when he could in his own way and that was more times than not when his father was gone. He could smell the jambalaya from lunch wafting through the trees like a hazy vapor that had yet to disperse making him smile brightly knowing he was closer to home than before.

He could smell something sweet underneath the jambalaya and it had him speeding up just a bit to the house which shot into view then and he smiled brilliantly even if there was no one to see it. Rushing forward Alastor climbed the porch steps pulling open the door just as his mother finished placing cookies onto a plate and looking up with a smile of her own.

“There you are! I was thinkin’ I was gonna have to call for you but here you are, right on the dot!” His mother praised grabbing a cup from the cupboard, pouring him half a cup of milk and grabbing two cookies resting them on the table when he sat down. She pressed a kiss against his hair affectionately then went to the sink turning the water on. “Your Daddy went huntin’ again, I’m gonna tell him to take you with him next time. It’ll be good bondin’ for the both of you!”

“Thank you, Mama!” He grinned taking a bite out of the warm cookie enjoying the way it almost melted in his mouth from the heat and he closed his eyes for a moment. He just _loved_ his mother’s cookies for she made them in such a way that they just melted when they touched your lips and he could eat them by the dozens. Speaking of his mother, his gaze cut to the woman scrubbing the pan under the water and he pursed his lips after taking a sip of milk. It seemed in the recent two weeks his mother had been fighting a nasty cough and was losing weight fast, so fast in fact that while she’d once been plump in just the right places to make it obvious she had children, she now looked thin. Very thin. A concerning thin. ”Mama?”

“Yes, baby?” Rose looked over her shoulder at Alastor who wasn’t smiling for the first time that day and instead looked worried. Flicking her fingers a few times she turned with her lower back pressing against the edge of the counter looking at her son with her own concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing just…why don’t you sit and have some cookies and milk with me?” Alastor requested softly looking directly into her eyes making firm eye contact when Rose smiled gently. Turning the water off he watched his mother grab a couple of steaming cookies off the plate, grab her own half a cup of milk and sit across from Alastor shifting to get comfortable.

“That’s a good idea. So, how’s the leg feelin’?” Rose questioned biting into her cookie when Alastor watched her chest convulse for a second like she was holding something back as she swallowed the cookie. She took a sip of milk like the cookie had been too dry when her chest made that same movement and she placed her hand over it clearing her throat a few times. She looked up at Alastor then smiled. “I’m fine, don’t look so worried!”

“My legs feeling fine, just hurts a bit when I run too much. Have you been to a doctor yet, Mama?” Alastor questioned finishing off his first cookie rather quickly while his mother began breaking her first cookie in pieces like she had lost her appetite. “Mama? You did go to a doctor, right?”

“We can’t afford it, baby. With your own bill from your leg we just don’t have enough money to scrounge up for me to visit one. But hey,” She pointed a finger at Alastor with a rather mocking anger face like she was trying to be stern but her eyes were sparkling at him like it was a joke. “Don’t you go worryin’ ‘bout me. I’ll be just fine! Did you know I had you without a hospital or even a doula?”

“What?” He bit into his cookie widening his eyes for effect but he knew they must be sparkling just like hers for she smiled widely at him like it was a big joke now. But this really interested Alastor for he had never heard about a woman giving birth on her own like that without a single person to help.

“Yes, sir, it was just me. Your Daddy had gone out to find help, or so I think, but he’d come back from huntin’ to find me screamin’ somethin’ fierce. I don’t think I’d ever seen your Daddy so afraid of me!” She chuckled like she delighted at the thought of Samuel being afraid of her and she sighed while her thin fingers picked her cookies apart and she took a little sip of her milk. “He left and I was alone, real scared too. My own mama didn’t want nothin’ to do with me when she found out about Samuel saying she didn’t condone such a relationship in the eyes of God but I just think she was a hard, cold racist woman. She didn’t believe a white woman could be with a perfectly normal man like Samuel, just because of what? His skin? No, I loved Samuel and that was that. I sent her a letter about you, Alastor, and she seemed delighted but didn’t come to help me when I called beggin’ and pleadin’ for help. It took your Daddy four hours for him to come back to say he didn’t find help but there you were. Tiny, pink and starin’ up at me with a surprise so intense I couldn’t help laughin’. There you were, all ten fingers, all ten toes and the most beautiful baby I ever did see.”

“Wow.” Alastor blinked staring at his mother’s face which seemed truly happy, peaceful even and he smiled at her when she blinked back at him. She scooped her crumbled cookies into her hands walking to the trash tossing them in and brushing her palms off. “Mama, you should eat!”

“Ah ah! What did I say before? Don’t be worryin’ ‘bout me when there’s nothin’ to worry over. I’ll eat when I eat, darlin’, and that’s that. You’re too young to be worryin’ ‘bout your Mama!” Rose replied planting her hands on her hips walking towards him smiling softly when she rubbed her hand over his brown locks of hair then pressing another kiss against the top of his head. “I love you, baby, but don’t be wastin’ time worryin’ over me. I’m gonna be here a long, long time for you and don’t you forget it.”

“Okay, Mama. I still want you to go to a doctor, your chest is purring.” Alastor mumbled against her breast when he listened to her lungs which purred like the kitten at Jacob Foster’s house that his mother let him keep. Alastor knew it was a bribe to keep Jacob from telling his father about his mother fooling around with Samuel but it considered him with how fierce his mother’s lungs purred. 

“I’ll be okay, darlin’. Just a little cough I got! Probably just a cold! Stop fussin’ and go play in your room for now, I wanna keep you in for the day. Sickness has been floatin’ ‘round the city and the last thing I need is for you to get sick like I am. Okay?” Rose looked at Alastor who stared up at her hesitating then smiled when he was pulled in for a tight hug. “How ‘bout you think on the kinda party you wanna be havin’ in a few weeks, hm? Make me a list and I’ll see what I can do!”

“Okay!” He felt fingers moving through his hair softly, gently while he still hugged onto his mother tightly around her waist which, not even two weeks ago, had been plush and soft but was now getting narrow and boney. He let go when she patted his hair and yet this persistent nagging fear rang in his head over and over that he was a fool to be playing along with his mother who was wasting away before his eyes. But what can he do? Could he even do anything? He bit his lip when he felt answering tears at this helpless feeling, a feeling he hadn’t felt in at least a month, that threatened to swallow him up from his feet to his head. His mother’s life was ticking away fast and he couldn’t slow it down.

* * *

It was a deep, wrenching cough that rattled the ribs and sent pain spreading across the chest that woke Alastor late that night. The clock in his room read after midnight and his mother was hacking something fierce when he heard his father’s low rumbling voice raising with concern. Then feet were hitting the floor and the door was flying open with feet pounding down the stairs while his mother’s ragged cough continued on like she was trying to hack up her lungs, her intestines. It was a fierce cough that made it seem like if she didn’t stop she’d never stop and it sent chills through him when he flung his blanket off scurrying out of bed opening his door. His mother was hacking now like she WAS trying to cough her lungs out and he felt fear tingle through him from scalp to toes while everything inside him whispered not to go closer. But closer he went until he stood in the light of his parents bedroom and was staring at his mother’s hunched back that quivered with each racking cough that raked itself over his mother with zero mercy and made a whimper fly out of Alastor. Helpless. He was truly helpless.

“Mama?” He whimpered the word out flying into the room looking at his mother’s surprised look when he came close and he nearly cried out. A blood vessel had broken in both of his mother’s eyes tainting the white around her big brown eyes a scarlet red in places. “Mama! Mama, are you sick? What is it? Please, don’t die, Mama!”

Who was this whiny, sniveling child? Not the cold, mightier than thou boy he’d been in the weeks following his broken leg that was for sure! But he was gripped with a fear like none other at the thought of his mother dying and leaving him alone with his father, just the two of them, Samuel doing what he wanted to Alastor without his mother there….it brought tears to his eyes that trailed over his cheeks and his mother’s hand remained tight against her mouth when she hacked into it and he felt a drop on his cheek. It rolled slowly down unlike the quick falling tears but he saw it through the cracks of her fingers. A scent he’d memorized by heart from the countless times he’d been hurt himself from his father, and cried out before he could help it. Blood. His mother was hacking blood!

“Alastor, go! I don’t want you gettin’-“ She paused to hack again which brought a bloody phlegm into her hand when she then stared down at the crying boy with tears of her own in her blood shot eyes. “Please, go! Get outta here, now! I won’t have you gettin’ what I got! _Go! Get out!_ ”

“Ro! You shouldn’t be yellin’ like that! Save your strength!” His father barked walking back in the room holding his mother’s coat and boots in his hands then looked down at Alastor. “Boy, get to bed! Get away from your mother, I won’t have you gettin’ sick like she is!”

“Take him, Sam. I’ll get my coat and things on, you’ll have to rip him off, he won’t let go.” Rose whispered the words now ashen like she couldn’t stand to shove Alastor away who was openly wailing. Just like the day after he woke out of the hospital in his room, he was smearing her clothes wet with his drool, tears and snot but it was breaking her heart to see a few droplets of her blood marring his skin. _“Please, Sam!”_

When she screamed the words Alastor screamed after her words squirming and ripping at her clothes to hang on but Samuel was stronger than him. He wailed like no boy could and screamed kicking at his father reaching towards his mother for all he knew this would be the last he saw of her. Thin, blood shot eyes, blood staining her palms and tears dripping on her ashen cheeks looking as heartbroken as he felt. ”No! No! Mama! Mama, _please! Take me with you, Mama! Mama, please please! Don't leave me here alone! Mama!_ ”

“I’ll be okay, baby.” His mother whispered against his screaming when Samuel cracked his hand against his healing leg and he screamed when pain rattled to the bone and he was thrown carelessly into his room and his father stared down at him. Alastor felt snot marring his top lip as the tears gushed down his cheeks like a river and his father’s eyes paused on the droplets of blood that made pain flash in his eyes. Then he held up the key to his room and Alastor screeched like an inhuman creature intent on getting to his mother when Samuel slammed the door as the boy got to his feet.

He heard the door click as he wailed beating on it so fiercely his hands hurt while he screeched with nothing holding him back begging for his mother. “I’ll leave the key on the floor so don’t you get no funny ideas, boy, ‘bout unlockin’ it before I leave. If you do I’ll make that broken leg seem like a treat compared to the whoopin’ you’ll get. You hear me?”

Alastor sobbed openly, the screeching and wails hurting his throat in ways he’d never felt before but he felt pain ripping his chest open. “I jus’ wan’ Mamaaa! I want Ma- hic- Ma! Le’ me go wit’ Mama!” He hated the way his words slurred but he really did, deep down, want to be with Rose for he feared he’d never see her again. He beat his hands on the door screaming for his mother when he heard her coughs in the hallway and he sobbed wildly. He could hear a few of his mother’s own sobs as she climbed down the stairs with her wracking coughs that threatened to rip her apart and Alastor wailed openly.

He heard the front door slamming open then shut when he heard a sound he’d never truly heard unless Mrs. Foster was coming to visit. A car engine. When had his father saved money for one of those? He ran to his bedroom window looking out it to see his mother in the passenger seat coughing wildly staining her hands and clothes with blood it would seem as she curled her knees up. Then she, and his father, were gone leaving him alone in a house that was swallowing him up quicker than he liked. His sobs reigned over the quiet house as his fingers reached up to rub at the tears as he hiccuped wildly running to the door reaching under grabbing the cold key. He unlocked his door throwing it open running down the hall so fast he nearly slipped but he ran down the stairs knowing that she’d still be gone when he threw the door open yet he still did it. He gasped for air in lungs that were clogged with tears as he cried openly and sniffed hard when he took a breath that ended in more crying he was unable to control. He heard a snapping in the woods and he hiccuped freezing in place then backed up slowly when he heard more cracking and slid his hand in to stretch for the gun resting against the wall.

It was a black figure to his eyes which were watery and lacked his glasses that when he yanked the gun towards him with a shrill cry of fear when the figure lurched towards him. He didn’t think twice about it when his finger squeezed the trigger that barked out a bullet towards the figure that fell. He shot a second time when it squirmed and he took a breath coughing just a bit when he did so, the tears still coming fast but the screams no longer left his body. He turned the porch light on looking down at the path and felt his eyes widening for no matter how horrible his eyes were without his glasses he’d know that fast anywhere. Staring up at him blankly, but accusingly, were the dead eyes of Jacob Foster and Alastor found he had no shakes in his hands and his fear for his mother quieted slightly. He felt a thrill instead, a quiet little humming deep in the pit of him, his very core, and he rubbed at his cheeks again with his sleeve. Then a smile curled over his lips for all the horror of tonight, for the fast moving symptoms of his mother’s that had been building for weeks, being under his father’s cold scornful watch as well, were soothed like cold water over a burn when he walked out quietly onto the path. It was easy to swing the strap of his gun on his shoulder like a bag then reach down grabbing the clothing of Jacob’s shoulders and drag him inside.

While he was curious on why the boy was out here after midnight when he saw the tire tracks on the ground making him squint. No, his father didn’t own a car. That was Mrs. Foster’s car! And she must have left Jacob here or something but now wasn’t the time to focus on that and now was the time to focus on what to do with the boy. There was a nice section of the garden in the back that Alastor was quite fond of and it made his smile curl up further at the thought. Jacob always did love the same flowers his mother did and he couldn’t imagine a more perfect spot for them both. He dragged Jacob's limp body upstairs to the bathroom while he grunted lightly at the weight of the older boy but he got up those stairs with his leg only barely throbbing with pain as he trudged backwards towards to the bathroom where he heaved the boy up and tossed him in the sink with a gasp of air. Was he really going to do this? Was he? Was he? _Was he?_ He'd thought about it before, what it'd be like to take down a human the same way one would a deer but he didn't like the feeling that came with it but staring down at Jacob's body Alastor felt like he could _breathe_ without that heavy sensation tugging on his shoulders yanking them down. He could breathe and while the situation was bad, a situation he should own up too, the seven year old found he didn't _want_ too. He was relaxed for the first time in a long long time that he hummed softly to himself the same tune his father often did and he smiled widely too himself when he stopped in the kitchen for his mother's rubber gloves and walked out the front door walking around to the shed opening the door feeling around blindly before turning the lamp on. He located the saw easily and turned the lamp off once more before running out of the shed to the front door giggling once under his breath. Was this what psychopaths were? Horribly sad one moments then so happy and delighted the next? Walking on air? 

Alastor had no clue but the tear stains on his cheeks itched fiercely when he rolled his shoulders entering the house shutting the door and walking up the stairs he found that he didn't _care_. If this could be something that gave him a release that none other could then what was stopping him? Sure, his age was. No seven year old went around murdering just because he _felt_ like it, no, no. He needed a little more time but what was once? It was an accident anyways! But when he entered the bathroom grabbing Jacob's cold arm and pressing the bone saw against his elbow beginning to cut down he wondered if it was simply an accident. Didn't he have a feeling it was person anyways? Didn't he know it deep down he was shooting a person then? He had no clue but as he severed his forearm form his elbow with a wet gush of blood to the floor he wondered if maybe he knew it was on purpose. But if he didn't tell, who could stop him? If he was bigger and stronger who could stop him then? The thought of growing older never appealed to him more and he was sure, one day, if his mother was still alive he'd do her proud and he'd be amazing at it! He smiled widely to himself humming low in his throat as he sawed, blood piling on the gloves, pooling in the tub and staining his clothes but that was easily taken care of, wasn't it? He hummed brightly and openly while he continued to saw and he felt time slipping away but in a good way this time. For now, he had research, he had a purpose he can build towards. Now that he had a taste he wanted _more._


	7. Chapter Seven

Four walls, one closet, one window, one bed with the blankets flirting on the edge nearly touching the floor like they were daring to slide off. The room was immaculate with not a toy sullying the perfect floor nor drawings of any kind to stick to the walls like he normally would. It was silent in the house as it had been for the past two, very long weeks and Alastor swore time both flew but drag it’s weight across his mind in these two weeks. His birthday had come and gone with not a notice from anyone, certainly not his father, but what he wanted more than anyone was his mother. Alastor was laying out in the middle of his floor, staring up at the ceiling that had grown so familiar he felt he would scream if he had to stare at the familiar sight of this room for a moment longer but he felt a tad dramatic. The eight year old was rather aggressive for two things which one was, obviously, not having any news whatsoever on his mother and how her health was fairing and the second was he had been denied public school after all and was back to home schooling. Miss Ruth was his tutor who came every day from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon just schooling him and he could tell it was getting harder for her to find material to teach him for he learned so rapidly. Quickly, like a sponge she claimed many times before and it made him proud but also didn’t give him a lot to do in the night.

Alastor took a breath feeling his lungs fill, expand tightly with air that pressed against his ribs before blowing the air out until his lungs wheezed for air. He gritted his teeth when a wave of anger washed over him making him shut his eyes for a moment, hands flying up shoving his glasses off his face. In this fit of anger the heel of his hands dug into his eyes while his nails burrowed into his eyebrows so hard he expected them to dig right on through the skin. The reason WHY he couldn’t go to public school? His father. It was horrid, the actions of his father but the worst of them all? His father locked him in his room through the weekends or any time Miss Ruth could not make it to a teaching session for she did have other children she home school other children and when this happened he was locked away. It was like Samuel could not fathom having to look at Alastor when his mother wasn’t here and that lead to the predicament he was in.

Honestly, if his stomach didn’t cramp and growl with hunger or his bladder tense up so much it hurt he wouldn’t believe this was real. If he hadn’t had any physical pain he wouldn’t have known this was his reality but it was and it was absolutely outrageous. What made it worse, however, was the string of women coming into the home now that his mother was no longer around to limit those hours. Oh, he hated the sounds that still rang in his mind from the weeks of women pouring through after his mother went to the hospital, the moans, the cries, the grunts, the laughter shared, the comments, the creaking bed and it all mixed with his mother’s hacking coughs that still rang in the silent hours of the house. Stomach twisting painfully Alastor groaned when a wave of nausea assaulted him so suddenly he wanted to cry but fought against it. It was a common occurrence now for Alastor to get so hungry that the nausea would swoop in almost unbearably and all he could truly do was curl into a ball then rock himself until his father decided to have mercy. Or simply remember Alastor was locked up here.

It was like he was summoned by the mere thought of him with the heavy boots quickly approaching Alastor’s room and the clicking of the lock from the other side of the door. Then it swung open giving to Alastor a much surprising sight before him when he moved his hands from his eyes to put his glasses back in place. His eyes widened taking in the tray in his father’s large hands that was being sat down on the floor in front of Alastor and his father was taking a seat nudging the tray towards Alastor. On it was a big plate of meat, eggs, grits and biscuits like any other morning breakfast but Alastor was dragging the tray towards him and, picking up his fork to preserve some dignity, he devoured the food before him. He had no regrets when he felt his stomach tightening from the amount of food already and he was still going for the pain meant nothing to him right now. He devoured every last bit of food on that plate and chugged the orange juice down like any child would be for a drink or food that when the chilled juice raced down his throat to his stomach in a path that chilled him he sighed. He placed the empty cup down and used the napkin to rub his lips clean and looked at his father who had been staring at him the whole time with his fist pressed against his lips before he stood.

“Get dressed.” Samuel ordered when he walked to the doorway then out into the hall without a look back at Alastor who stared after his father curiously. He placed his dishes to the side jumping to his feet rushing to his dresser pulling out fresh clothing then running to the bathroom pausing when he caught his father staring into the bedroom he’d shared with his mother and opened his mouth. Should he ask? Samuel looked over then sighed rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Take a bath. Bathe your damn self, your Mama would be taken aback with how dirty you look right now.”

His heart lifted so suddenly in his chest he almost choked when he ran in the bathroom shutting the door dropping his clothes on top of the toilet seat rushing to the bath turning the knobs. The water shot out like it took was urgent to get hot so Alastor could bathe and he jiggled his leg waiting for it to fill as he bit the inside of his cheek to contain squeals. He was seeing his mother! His mother! Oh, it’s what he’s wanted for weeks! Yanking his clothing off and throwing it to the corner of the room where that dark green stain seemed to be creeping down the crack of the corner, placed his glasses on the sink counter and he jumped in the bath sloshing the water just a bit. He scrubbed his skin, cleaned under his nails fiercely then began scrubbing his hair with a fierce edge to it when he took a breath then dunked himself under the water as he rubbed his locks of hair. The water was sudsy but growing dark with filth rather quickly it would seem making him eager to get out as he surged through the surface of the water with a splash and stood up right away scrubbing down his legs, around his back that he could reach and splashed water up him to rinse it off, grabbed a cup and rinsed his back. He grabbed a towel then unplugged the tub listening to the pipes rattle as it began sucking the water down and he stepped out onto the floor rubbing his skin to dry it quickly. He scrubbed his hair squeezing the water out of it tightly, his eyes squeezing shut but he kept doing it until his hair stood up crazily but in damp locks when he began fiercely rubbing at his skin.

His skin was still damp when he shoved his limbs through fabric that clung to his skin any chance they could that when he was pulling his pants up he fell right on his ass slamming into the door bouncing his head off the door knob. He winced rubbing the spot that rang with pain but got his feet through the bottom of the pants and stood up pulling them up his thighs and buttoned them up, slid his belt on and buttoned his shirt up tucking it in neatly then running out of his room to get his socks and shoes in his bedroom, sliding the socks on neatly and getting his shoes on tying them up tightly and running a brush through his hair. He ran back to the bathroom pushing the glasses up his nose then running down the hall and flying down the stairs nearly tripping on his own feet but got off the last stair with his father standing from his chair with keys in his hand. Alastor ran for the door flying out of the house with Samuel not far behind as if eager to see Rose as well and the boy climbed in Mrs. Foster’s car without a second thought when his father slid in turning the engine on that roared. All that mattered is his mother would soon be minutes away and he’d be seeing her very very soon.

* * *

“Alastor, look at you! Eight years old! I almost didn’t recognize ya for you look so grown up!” His grandmother on his father’s side, MeeMaw, bellowed out sweet tones and he ran for her. “Look at you! Growing just as ruggedly handsome as your Daddy, you are!”

“Ma, quit embarrassin’ the boy.” Samuel grunted when his mother clicked her tongue at him making his gaze roam to his father sitting in the chair. Alastor clung to his grandmother happily, joyfully even, for he never really did get to see his grandparents that often for they lived farther inwards of New Orleans so visiting was often something they needed months to prepare for. His grandmother was beautiful and that much was clear from her full lips, her big expressive eyes and her straight pert nose all that together created a rather stunning face with a strong chin and jawline.

“Oh, shut up, Sami. I’m complimentin’ my grandbaby and you ain’t gonna stop me from doin’ so!” She replied with a “so there!” kind of tone when she beamed down at Alastor once more like someone lit a candle behind her mocha colored skin. It was a color, so rich and smooth that Alastor often saw his own mother staring enviously at the smoothness of his grandmother’s skin that didn’t show a single blemish. His mother claimed it was because MeeMaw kept her skin clean, he on the other hand believed that her skin wouldn’t dare blemish against her say-so. “Now, Al, how have you been, baby? Pop-Pop and I barely get to see you, how are you getting’ along with your Daddy?”

“Ma!” Samuel bit out the word in a growl that Alastor was all to familiar with and his mother raised her eyes like she was expecting obedience. Instead it was like lightening clashing together when her lips pressed together tightly and she pointed a finger at Samuel.

“You knock off that tone, Samuel Silas Roberts, and you put it away where the sun don’t shine, you hear me, boy? I know that anger better than anyone and you know it too. You think you scare me? I’ve seen flies scarier than you!” His grandmother warned with a tone low, dangerous in her throat that crackled across Alastor’s skin and no doubt did the same for his father who tensed up. Then his grandmother smiled down at Alastor yet again brightly. “Now go on, baby, and answer MeeMaw for me, hm?”

“Well,” He got the sharp, dark look from Samuel when he then picked a topic he could speak on and smiled brilliantly. “He taught me how to skin a deer! And took me hunting too! He said I do both things way better than he ever did at my age! That’s good, right, MeeMaw?”

“It’s outstandin’, baby!” She cooed to him cupping his face making him giggle at the affection she showered on the boy who soaked it up greedily. Then his grandfather stood up like his bones were aching and Alastor looked up at him respectively then felt a hand planting on his hand ruffling his hair affectionately.

“Thattaboy! Better than your Pa, huh? I’ll hafta take you huntin’ and you show me them skinnin’ skills of yours!” His grandfather rumbled making him beam upwards feeling safer than he had in weeks between his grandparents when his stomach growled weakly but obvious enough his grandfather heard it and smirked. “Like your Pa, a bottomless pit at his age. How bout we go and in and see your Ma then we take you to lunch, hm?”

“Pa!” This time his father sounded desperate like he was losing control and his dark eyes, obviously inherited from his own father, clashed. Samuel had no say so when it came to his parents and Alastor was feasting on his father’s discomfort at his slipping control and it was obvious to his father but not to his grandparents. “You don’t need to be spoilin’ my boy like that, especially nothin’ fancy-“

“Oi, shut your mouth! I’ll spoil my baby as much as I want!” The tone in her voice was one that volunteered anyone to appose Maya Roberts and Alastor absolutely ate it up. There was no stronger willed people than his grandmother and his grandfather, Lee Roberts. Maya smiled down at Alastor while Lee rubbed the brown locks again and she stroked his cheek affectionately. “You go see your Mama and come back out, then me and Pop Pop will take you out, alright?”

“Alright!” He beamed brightly at his grandparents despite feeling a chill rolling up his back when he looked at his mother’s room door. He grabbed the cold handle twisting it down the same time he felt his grandfather’s finger leaving his hair and he entered the room surprised the three adults didn’t follow him. It was quiet except for the raspy breathing he could hear clearly from his mother and she was clear across the room! “Mama?” He walked forward around a little corner before stepping into the room when he heard a soft little cry.

“Oh, baby! Alastor, my little boy, look at you!” Rose cried out like it’d been years since she’d seen Alastor and yet the eight-year-old felt like it had been years since he’d seen his mother. She was thin, fragile looking, pale and she had a clammy sheen to her skin but the doctor’s swore she wasn’t THAT contagious as long as they wore these face protects before going up to her. Speaking of face thing, Alastor brought it up over his nose and mouth before walking up to his mother’s bed and sitting on it next to her as she brushed his damp hair. “Oh, baby, I’ve missed you so much!”

“I’ve missed you too, Mama. MeeMaw and Pop Pop are here, they’re going to take me out for lunch but I don’t think Father likes it.” They both shared a giggle before his head was falling on her chest and her thin arms were hugging him tightly. “I’ve missed you a lot, Mama, really bad. I didn’t get to go to school, he said it was too late and you were too important to not see. Miss Ruth is upset I didn’t go.”

“It’ll be okay, baby. I promise, next year when I’m healthy you’ll go even if it’s the death of my, you hear? You will go to public school like you’ve been dreamin’ of!” She brushed his hair behind his ear then began softly smoothing it over and over the way one would pet a cat. “I’m sorry, baby. I never meant to get sick like this but the doctors said if I keep makin’ progress and keep on gettin’ better then I can come home soon!”

“That’s good, Mama!” Alastor wished he could rip the mask off but he kept it up as he shut his eyes in response to the ministrations of his mother’s fingers through his hair now. It was soft, slow and comforting like they were back home laying on her bed as she soothed him and he was enjoying it when his mouth moved before his mind could stop it. “Mama, guess what I did.”

“What, baby?” Rose mumbled like she was close to following him to sleep, if it were possible but then his fatigue faded away when his mouth opened but he snapped it shut so fast it hurt his teeth. It was like the whine of a radio cut through his head so fiercely he twitched eyes widening when a small quiet voice whispered into his ear.

_She wouldn't understand._

“Al?”

He laughed awkwardly brushing off the moment when he pulled back sitting up looking at his mother’s worried face. The same face that had lovingly kissed his the other day and he caressed her sallow cheek instead rather than answering for a second. He shouldn’t be worrying her like this and he shouldn’t be letting his mouth get carried away like that. “I drew you a picture for when you got home. Also, I have a really good report card that you can hang on the board too! Miss Ruth said I’m the smartest one out of all the other kids she’s home schooling!”

“That’s my boy. Smartest damn cookie I ever have met.” His mother mumbled like she was growing tired when she sighed stroking his hair leaning towards his forehead before stopping herself. “Sorry. I can’t.” He knew instinctively that she was going to give him a kiss on the forehead, but it hurt she couldn’t do even that right now. The fact he was so close to her gave him the risk of being sick, even with the mask.”Why don’t you go out to eat with MeeMaw and Pop Pop while I take a cat nap, hm?”

“Okay.” He mumbled climbing off his mother’s bed while her fingers left his hair leaving him feel colder than before. He walked across the room opening the door hearing hissing conversations when he looked up at his grandmother whose lips were pinched in a tight line. “MeeMaw? What’s the matter?”

“Alastor, come here.” Samuel’s voice was tight, colder than he’d heard it ever before when it called for him from down the hall and he blinked a few times before his grandmother took his small hand tugging him forward allowing him to shut the door behind him. What was going on? What was wrong? They walked down the hall turning the corner into the waiting room and Alastor blinked up at her expecting an answer, but her face remained passive. Blank.

When they entered the waiting room, the smells of antiseptic and that lemony smell hovered around like a quiet ghost floating around spreading the scent. But what got his attention was the pair of old people before his father who was standing rigidly like he couldn’t stand to be so physically near them and Alastor blinked. The man was tall, pale and his face looked to narrow like whoever made his face just threw the parts on there, not at all beautifully placed like his grandmother and grandfather next to him. The woman by his side looked just as narrow and spiteful even when they looked at his father then he realized that despite their narrow, almost weasel like faces that there was some familiarity to his mother. They all shared the same brown hair, albeit his was more of a medium color or the chocolate color as his mother stated, they all shared a variant of the brown eyes. These are his mother’s parents. His jaw dropped at the sight of these weasel faced parents, to even slightly connect them to his lovely faced mother was a huge slap in the face to his mother.

“These are your mother’s parents, Jane and Henry Day. Jane, Henry this is the grandson you never bothered to meet just because he’s mixed. His name is Alastor.” Was it just him or was it that his father sounded bitter? “I’d let you introduce yourselves, but my son is going out for lunch with his grandparents.”

“There will soon be time for introductions, Samuel. Don’t worry, the boy isn’t going anywhere any time soon, is he?” The man, Henry, spoke with an almost unattractive nasally voice that made Alastor wish he’d never been blessed with vocal cords. He felt smarmy, disgusting under this man’s gaze even if he marveled at how the brown of his iris was so much like his mother’s and his own shade. It was strange to see such a color on himself look so cold and ice like on another person. In short, Henry Day’s brown eyes looked like frozen mud meanwhile his mothers were warm like chocolates.

“Yes, I guess there will be time to meet.” Samuel replied stiffly when Alastor felt his grandmother dragging him forward, her eyes tight and harsh on Jane who was looking disgusted to have such a beautiful woman near her. They must be around the same age and yet Alastor could see that time had not been kind to Jane Day’s pale, almost translucent skin with its many wrinkles and tight lines creasing her face. It was a bit insulting then to think of his beautiful, mocha colored grandmother being the same age as this wrinkled and lined woman before him as he, his grandmother and his grandfather walked around the little gathering. And yet Alastor felt a little chill of premonition run down his spine as he thought on Henry Day’s words and he suddenly hoped he didn’t get to know these weasel faced people who didn’t seem to care much for him. But then again, he also wanted to know what was so terrible about having a father of color and a woman like his mother but he could tell from the looks traded between his mother’s parents and his father that this was something that ran deeper. This was something that could ultimately grow ugly for Alastor and yet his curiosity wanted to see this unfold like the demented flower it promised to become.


	8. Another Note! Sorry for a second one!

**It's been a while since I've uploaded this story or even looked at it in a while. The reason? I have been in the deepest, blackest rut I've ever been in in a long while and it's been hard to do a lot of things that once were enjoyable just aren't anymore. Trust me, I've been wanting to write badly! I really want to keep updating this story! I want to go on to the series for I already have ideas but God help me that this writer's block is like a big chain around my throat keeping me from doing anything worthwhile. I've been frustrating myself trying to force myself to work around this new drop in my mind space, to force myself to write around the writers block for it's worked before! But lately I've just been struggling a lot with my mental health and where I stand in a lot of areas that it's making me feel bad I can't write or do anything that I enjoy for just none of it feels enjoyable right now in this time. I've been getting episodes of the depression, little short ones, but I ignored it for a while and now it's just all consuming and it's so upsetting because I want to write, I want to do what I want, but it's so hard when the hole is big and black and I can't see myself climbing out any time soon. I didn't mean to come back to this story spouting all this depressing shit so onto other stuff! I am going to, hopefully, pull myself out of it and work on getting in a better head space so I can begin working on this again! I want to continue it and I feel bad for ignoring it as I have and I am absolutely determined to continue!**

**It just might take me a while to get in a good head space and for the writer's block to clear up as well! Hell, for all I know, I could wake up tomorrow morning and feel refreshed enough to begin writing and working on the story again! But just...now is bleak. There's a lot, family wise, that I've been dealing with and it's starting to effect me in ways I didn't think it would essentially and with the depression coming on stronger than ever had before it's just kind of a hard time to be writing. I hate sounding like this, all bitter and angry, but at the moment I can't help but BE angry and bitter with myself right now for not being able to continue working on this story and keep on powering through as my father has said before. It's just a lot right now and I promise, deeply and seriously, promise that I will be back with chapters and I'll be finishing up our dear Radio Demon's story for I have ideas for other stories it's just like I said before a million times (I know I sound like a broken record). I just need to drag myself out of the mind space I'm in and work on myself or, like I also said, I might wake up tomorrow feeling perfectly fine! It's just, I don't know, a lot of old painful memories I'd rather forget are hitting me in the face, the family situation going on now and so many other things are kinda ripping me apart and giving me the worst kind of black head space and writer's block. But I am determined, more than ever, to get this story done and continue on with the story! It just feels like I have so many excuses on why I can't give a chapter right now, if that makes sense!**

**So I, who have honestly scoffed at self care, am going to be doing some self care mentally and even if it isn't til the new year, I will come back refreshed and with a brand new chapter! I see the hits go up from time to time and I thank you lovely people for still sticking with this train wreck until I can upload! So until then I'll be back soon, hopefully, refreshed and ready to get a new chapter out there! Until then thank you all for sticking with this and with me!**

**~Kim**

**Edit: I won't lie, I essentially felt a bit guilty kind of posting this but thank you guys! You're all so sweet and I appreciate it! Thank you so much for such sweet comments! I appreciate it and will be taking care of myself but I just couldn't let those comments go without a reply! I'll be doing what I need and I'll definitely be back soon with more chapters! Thank you again! 😊**


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it hasn't been that long but over the last four days or so since I wrote that author's note I've been pretty okay. I mean, obviously still depressed, but it's not quite as bad and it is coming in waves but this chapter kind of poured out of me in one of the better moments! Plus, something amazingly awesome happened to me recently! I got to school online to get my high school diploma and I'd been waiting nearly half a month for my transcripts sent over (the school in town messed them up for YEARS) but yesterday I got the email I've been waiting for! My transcripts got sent over and I now know what classes I'm going to be taking and I'm so excited to finish my classes and get my diploma! So, other than my sleeping pattern being shit, I've been slowly coming back together! I'm not a hundred percent okay but enough that I was able to write this chapter without the urge to throw the laptop across the room, I got this done pretty well I believe! Also, note, that from here on out there might be some more mentioning to segregation and Alastor's "mixed" genes! 
> 
> I'm going to start taking my time with chapters, write when I can rather than force it! So here's a new chapter I managed and, I just have to do this, I'll see you all next decade! Enjoy the Dad joke and read on! 😄

The day started like any other for the eight year old when it came to his lessons with Miss Ruth and he'd been writing on his paper doing sentences, fixing grammar of the sentences etc. when the sound of feet on the front porch got both his and Miss Ruth's attention. Normally when it was a tutoring day Samuel understood, to some extent, and made himself scarce but this was a new development that got both tutor and child tilting their head in the direction of the porch when the door entered making the boy blink. Walking in was his father shadowed by the weasel faced parents of his mother that looked over their small home with a mask of disgust on their faces like they couldn't stand to be here and narrowed their eyes on Miss Ruth who was sitting like if she was still and silent enough the pair of elders wouldn't notice her. It was strange how their eyes missed nothing, like a hawk, and it made Alastor's skin crawl in the way it did with his father, insects scuttling under his skin like they were laying fresh eggs, trying to provide a new generation while also trying to pierce his flesh and crawl out while they squirmed along his muscles. He'd gone to see his mother two more times that week and with Saturday being tomorrow the boy was looking forward to spending some time to playing or drawing as he had often done time to time while hoping his father would take him out hunting so they could eat a proper meal. But knowing Samuel he'd probably pay Miss Ruth extra for looking after Alastor tonight and making dinner. 

"Who is this?" Oh, if he thought the man had a nasally voice this woman's voice was shrill! If his mother's voice was like wind-chimes, sweet and melodious, then this woman's voice was a polar opposite of his mother's in the way that if his mother's was so soothing then this woman's was like someone took a pair of wind-chimes and slammed a hammer into them until they sounded so unbearable one couldn't stand it. That was this woman's voice. Jane and Henry Day had the most grating, horrible voices that he wished they didn't have vocal cords and would have to write everything instead. "Another woman, Samuel?" 

"She's the boy's tutor. Nothing like what you're implicatin', Jane." Samuel bit out looking at Alastor with a cold yet scathing expression and Alastor could see that, for the first time in his eight years of life, his father was just as uncomfortable as Alastor. The fact they both were on a spectrum of emotion was off putting for both son and father but the boy put his pencil down slowly rather than dropping it to make it clatter and stood up while Miss Ruth stood with him but took his hand as to keep him from stepping forward towards the elderly couple and he strangely appreciated it. "He's home schooled this year since Ro got sick I figured it wouldn't be best to let him go to public this year with his mama away while she got better. Ruth Green these are Alastor's other grandparents, Jane and Henry Day." 

"Nice to meet ya'll!" Alastor could tell that Miss Ruth was trying to go for a warm and a pleasant introduction yet she didn't bother to stick her hand out to shake with theirs and they didn't move a single stiff muscle when Miss Ruth smiled at them. The eight year old was a little lost but this wasn't the first moment of segregation the boy had ever experienced, even being subjugated to it himself before even if he was the palest thing anyone had ever laid eyes on, he was used to the looks and he was used to the segregation shown to many people he knew of. It's just the way things were and Alastor rarely thought about it. 

"Pleasure to meet you. We have quite the few things to speak of regarding family issues so would you mind wrapping up your little, er, session?" The way Henry's lips twisted to a near half smirk had Alastor's anger rearing it's ugly head upwards and yet the boy could see his own father's anger rising in a similar way. Miss Ruth was practically family to them even if this family was a bit messed up from time to time they valued Miss Ruth as highly as his mother was valued. And that was pretty high. 

Turning to Alastor Miss Ruth picked up her carpet bag, the soft blue flashing like a warning itself and she then moved her fingers through Alastor's hair softly. "I'll call you later, okay? I have to go and see Arthur for his lesson this afternoon but I'll see you bright and early tomorrow mornin', alright?" She then put her hat on top of her head then smiled at Samuel. "I'll be headin' off, Mr. Roberts! I'll talk to you as well about the fees and what not but until then I leave you hopin' ya'll have a good day as well! It was nice meetin' you, Mr. and Mrs. Day, I hope to see ya'll again sometime." 

With an air that seemed more proper, more important than Miss Ruth actually was quite literally blew the boy's mind when he watched her leave with a slam of the porch door behind her and she walked off down the familiar dirt path but Alastor, for the first time, for someone other than his mother he felt a burst of pride. He then turned his attention to his father when he cleared his throat like he was trying to come up with something but needed a moment. "Why don't you and Henry sit down while the boy and I go wash up?" 

"We prefer to stand, thank you." This was said so coldly, so icily from his grandmother who was looking around the house distastefully. "I thought Roselyn would have stayed in the city, last time she sent a letter to us. Never would have imagined my daughter in such a shabby place but keeping it well cleaned the way she has. You are more fortunate than you give yourself credit for, Samuel Roberts." 

"Thank you, ma'am. Al, let's go and wash up in the bathroom." With the trembling hand pressing against the back of his head the boy honestly expected a hit but got a firm push forward by the head and he walked forward with his father then climbed up the stairs quiet as a lamb. He'd learned long ago to not ask questions where they were not wanted nor appreciated. He followed his father into the bathroom when the door shut with a solid resounding thud and the water was twisted on when Samuel placed both of his hands on both of Alastor's shoulders holding them tightly. "Now listen to me, boy. Those people down there? They both hate you and yet will do anythin', _anythin'_ , to take you away from your Mama just because it would hurt her. When we go down there to talk you speak wisely and you speak smartly, hear me? As retarded as you act most times I think you're smart enough to understand that, right?" 

"Of course I'm smart! Mama says I'm smarter than anyone and so does Miss Ruth! Or smarter than the other boys my age!" Alastor protested loudly, a touch too loud perhaps, for his voice echoed in the small room for a moment when a hand was flying over his mouth pressing tightly sending bolts of panic through Alastor. He _hated_ having his mouth covered and his father knew this but after so many lessons he also learned to never bite, spit or lick his father's hand to get him to move it for it would just lead to a consequence later on that he'd rather not face. 

"Sh! Not so loud!" Samuel hissed before taking his hand away from Alastor's mouth. "You need to understand somethin' about Henry and Jane Day. They are conservative, narrow minded, hateful people and if you think _I'm_ hateful then you'll find that I pale in comparison, boy. Those people told your Mama, your lovely sweet Mama, to abort you when she came to them beggin' for their blessin' to let us marry even if it was wrong to them and when they pointed out her obvious pregnancy they wanted her to go see a doctor immediately. When she refused then found a preacher willin' to marry us she crossed their backs not once but twice in marryin' me and havin' you. I'm sure they were convinced a boy with your mixed heritage would come out with horns and a tail like some kinda demon from hell but your Mama crowed and showed everyone her pretty baby and was so smug about it as well. These are people who believed you shoulda been killed in the very beginin'." 

Alastor could have said "okay" or "alright" in response to understanding but he found that if he spoke right now he'd rage and scream about the weasel faced people down there with the most unattractive voices ever known to man that hated him just because of who he was. The people who gave life to one of the most loveliest, kindest and patient people he had ever known and how such a beautiful woman could come from such unattractive people would forever plague his mind and wrack his curiosity until he had an answer. So he chose to stay quiet, to look at his father with mute agreement when they both got their hands wet, rinsed faces off then dried them before Samuel grabbed the back of Alastor's head again as they walked down the hall to the stairs but the boy strangely didn't mind it. Even if his father wanted him dead or away from him and his mother at least he was upfront about it most times. Walking down the stairs back to the living room, knowing what he knew, made him want to force the weasel faced people out but still he felt curious of these people who birthed and raised his mother into the person she was today and he wanted to know just what they could want. 

"So, wanna mention why you're here?" Samuel questioned with his hand cupping the back of Alastor's head and digging his nails in unpleasantly to the boys scalp. "'Cause both you and I know that you weren't just "in the area and thought to pop buy". I bought this place and land _because_ it's away from the bustle of the city and it's the only place for miles. So there's obviously somethin' you've been wantin' if you showed up out of nowhere just because Ro is in the hospital sick as a dog and no way you showed up for nothin' for a daughter you disowned." 

Alastor struggled to compose his face but his brows lifted at the word. Disowned. Now the plot thickens, he figures, for if his mother didn't _leave_ her parents then she was most definitely disowned and he felt he knew the vague answer but he could sense there was more to this story than just her getting pregnant and marrying into an interracial relationship. It was _more_ than that. And he could see it in the cold gaze of Jane Day who looked for all the world an ice sculpture version of his mother as she stood there looking at both the father and son. "Yes. We wanted to meet our grandson properly after yesterday and that rather quick introduction before he was never returned." 

Samuel chuckled low in his throat which brought to mind the sound of a dogs growl; it was deep in his throat that rumbled all the same and Alastor managed to peek up to see those dark eyes sharp like knifes were ready to fly from them and he felt cold. "Well, considerin' you said Ro should've aborted him I didn't think ya'll would be a very good influence to have around my boy." His father tilted his head raising a brow then like he was genuinely curious. "I thought after that day when you disowned her for bein' pregnant and marrying a, what was it? A ni-" 

"Don't you finish that sentence, Samuel!" Jane's voice cracked out like a frigid whip when her eyes flicked to Alastor who was held in place by his father's strong had that, at any moment, felt would try and crush his head at a moments notice. "We won't have such vulgarity around the child even though the good Lord knows what kind of disgusting environment and situations you've put him through!" Oh the look on his father's face was priceless but then again so was this woman's sentence that it nearly set off both son and father, again for the millionth time on the same wave length it would seem, but it was choked down. 

"Whatever disagreements we've had in the past has nothing to do with the boy." Henry put it with a tight control in his voice that Alastor recognized in his own mother's voice when she and Samuel were fighting and she would try to cling to her calm but would fail at it. "This is a new boy, a new generation, and even if he bares witness to any vulgarities in this city then so be it. But our problems are between Jane, Roselyn, you and I. They have nothing and I mean _nothing_ to do with this boy!" 

" _It has everything to do with him!_ " Samuel roared the words making everyone, Alastor included, flinch from the loud booming voice when his father rattled his hand which shook Alastor so hard his little body was helpless to follow the movement of his father's hand and his glasses nearly fell off his face. " _You_ told Ro to abort him! _You_ said that a mixed boy was no grandson of yours! _You_ cut off all ties! And don't think I don't know _how_ many times Rose was on the phone beggin' you to come and see her boy, her pride and joy and don't think I don't know _how many times you spat in her face about it!_ So don't you stand there all high and mighty like you're better than anyone 'round here! Ya'll are vile and acting so righteous ain't going to help you none when your day of reckonin' comes! And every foul word you said to that woman who is currently fightin' for her life will come back to haunt you and I hope you burn in the hottest of flames!" 

"Oh, the same could be said about you, Samuel Silas Roberts! You claim all these vile things we've done but would about you and your sins, huh? You think we didn't see every single bruise you left on our daughter's pale skin? You think we didn't hear the whispers about our girl and how you was cheating on her every other month? _You think we don't know what you've done?_ " If Alastor thought his father had a temper then Henry's loud booming voice, deep and not at all nasally like when he spoke normally, sent shivers of apprehension through Alastor. This man could easily rival his father and yet his anger was unknown, his anger was _new_ and Alastor wasn't sure how to react to it so what did he do? Something he never, ever in a million years do if he had been in right mind. He twisted and threw his arms around his father's sturdy waist and hid his face against his father's side while his glasses dug painfully into his face. 

"I'm gonna ask ya'll to get out of my house politely. If you don't leave in the next five seconds you'll be seein' red and it won't be metaphorically either!" It was quiet as stares burned and stares coldly twisted into chinks of armors that seemed impenetrable and while Alastor clung to his father his heart raced painfully with his decision. He was in for it, he knew he was! His father told him, from a young age, that if he was going to cling to his mother so tightly then he'd "better not cling to him for he wasn't gonna have no sniveling brat on his hip all the time" so clinging to his father now had him shaking when he considered the beating. He wasn't shaking, however, with fear but something like anticipation was coiling through him and he wondered just HOW he would be beaten and he wondered if he'd get beat at all when he peeked up at his father's angry face when his voice boomed again making the boy hide his face again contemplating his answers. _"Get the fuck out!"_

"You think this is the last of us? Oh no, Samuel Roberts! You ain't seen the last of us nor will you see the last of us as long as we breathe! We have rights to that boy! You can't keep us from seeing him and hoarding him in this little house away from civilization! Trust me, when Roselyn get's better she'll be getting an ear full!" Henry barked while grabbing his wife's hand and yanking her past both father and son with a haughty, mightier-than-thou air of his and with a slam of of the door that was all too familiar to Alastor.

Then came those moments that could easily be counted by each of Alastor's pounding heart beats the longer he held onto his father's with wide eyes waiting, waiting patiently and still, for the shove or hit to come while his hands unconsciously gripped the fabric hem of his father's shirt and his pants. It was so silent that the boy swore even his father could hear his heart beat that was a frantic hard rhythm in a frenzy to jump out of his chest. Then came the movement of his father's arm that had him bracing his muscles tight against and felt that if he wanted he would have squeezed his eyes shut but kept them open to see where and how the hit would come but was stunned instead. His father moved his hand over his hair, caressing the locks rather softly and rather gently, hesitantly, before he began pushing his fingers through his hair softly. 

"You're hair has the same texture as hers." This was mumbled quietly as the fingers continued stroking through his hair tugging on the locks softly a few times to tilt Alastor's head back where his wide eyes met his father's curious ones. Oh this was worse. This was much much worse. "Same colored eyes. I knew you looked like your Mama but I never really...noticed it." It was on the tip of Alastor's tongue to mention his father would notice if he actually took the time to look at the boy once in a while but the eight year old's skin was cold and he had buzzing under his skin so wild he wanted shriek and claw at his skin. 

"I gotta finish my work." Alastor stated looking up at his father then pulling himself away from the man he felt a shiver of fear run through him for he knew, he knew, he _knew_ what was going to happen! He looked at the table feeling his father looming behind him in the room when he considered asking to go outside only to hear the lock on the door click and the shades get drawn on the windows that Alastor felt his stomach was going to leap out of him. His heart had already gone strangely quiet in his chest and he sat at the table looking to his father out of the corner of his eye, feigning it with fixing his glasses and rubbing his eyes fiercely but he was sure he was made out of ice the closer his father got to him before sitting next to him at the table. "Yes?" 

"Show me your work." Samuel ordered with a tone that offered no excuses from Alastor who was sitting ramrod still while flipping the page over revealing the rather tight, dainty writing Alastor possessed and the boy felt a cold drop in his stomach when he looked at the paper lifting his pencil up beginning to write a few words wondering if he should explain it to his father. Then he shoved the thought away finding that maybe, just maybe, if he ignored his father he'd go away after growing bored of the tedious work gave Alastor some hope. It seemed the longer the silence stretched between them and the more aware Alastor became of his father's eyes burning into him like they were trying to see something that wasn't there and trying to will it into something. His hopes crumbled away when he felt a hand on his knee that instantly slid up to his thigh and the fingers drumming against his skin moved in a disgusting pattern and rhythm. Alastor chose not to remember the rest of that afternoon and come later he still couldn't recall with specific details what happened that afternoon.

* * *

It hurt to move. It hurt to breath even. Sometimes, in melancholic fits, he swore it just hurt to even live. But laying in his bed that normally would be soft and welcoming felt like ragged nails against Alastor's abused body the longer he laid there with his arm resting on his forehead and he shifted making pain scream up his body and tears to bead. To think, even remotely _think_ , that because he and his father had been on the same wavelength for any moment of time would mean they'd bond had been stupid of him. He took a sharp breath in making his chest flutter and he knew he needed to move before he started crying, really crying too, and it just caused tears to streak when he moved anyhow and gasped with pain as his feet touched his floor and he whimpered quietly to himself. He couldn't remember coming to his room, he couldn't remember laying down and yet he couldn't remember that afternoon from the time he sat down with his father next to him to watch him work then to now was one giant fuzzy block. And judging from the dark sky it was a rather decent sized chunk than the other times and while Alastor kept thinking, kept insisting to himself he _didn't_ remember what happened those memories scratched and raked their nails against the door they were hidden behind and the scratching was making the boy wild as he covered his face digging his nails into his forehead covering his face. No no no. Alastor _refused_ to remember those ugly moments, those vile minutes tainting him to his core and the pain that would rip him from the inside out if he _dared_ recall a moment of it. He forced himself to his feet slowly when pain ripped through his waist nearly making him stumble to his knees but caught himself against his bedside table closing his eyes against the nausea that squirmed in response to this pain that had him feeling sick to his core. 

His mind whispered no to turning the light on but he needed to _see_ and he wanted to see what had happened, the evidence that would no doubt be stained on those blankets but with his hand on the switch he was trembling in bursts at the thought of facing even one bit of evidence. Turning the light on the room was the same colored four walls, the same door shut tight, the same floor beneath his feet along with the exact same closet, dresser, desk and his toys scattered around his toy box along with books on shelves and he had to take a breath. It was all the same. His body screamed with pain when he moved even a twitch and he turned to the bed pursing his lips while his hands shook and he pulled his blankets off the bed and threw the blankets on the floor then the pillows to rip the fitted sheet off of the bed with an intensity that made pain throb along his nerves like a heartbeat of playful rhythm. It was no different than his father's sung taunts and it made his teeth grit fiercely together while ripping the sheet off the bed in a frenzy until it was off and thrown across the room with his shaking hands inspecting the mattress making sure, just to see if it had soaked through.

He breathed a sigh out bowing his head for a moment then put his blankets back on the bed, glad they were spared somehow, and placed his pillows back on the bed as well when he walked stiffly, trying not to move his muscles to loosely less the pain scream again and picked the fitted sheet up. It was a huge spot, nothing garish and definitely not noticeable when scanning over once lazily but in the center, almost perfect, was a rather impressive stain with a crusted quality too it tainting it a pretty deep pink. Now if one was not looking over it they'd see it as a simple stain; nothing huge, nothing big, another stain on another child's bed. But to Alastor it screamed at him like a vivid throbbing spot on the sheet reminding him, mocking him of what he refused to remember and his hands shook but with anger this time the longer he stared at the spot that continued like a mocking stain against him until he threw the sheet down marching over to his desk. Ripping open the drawer fiercely making the contents rattle he grabbed his pocket knife, a gift from his mother for his seventh birthday, and marched back over to the sheets ignoring the pain screaming along his body and cut into the sheet only to proceed to rip it apart with his hands while a breath escaped him. 

His mother told him that every human, or almost every human, has a defining moment or memory in their lives in which they will look back and reflect upon whether it is sad or happy or troubling or even angry and they'd use in situations if need be. Standing there shoving strips and pieces of his fitted sheet into his waste bin he felt it searing into his mind how the emotions bubbled, how the tears felt on his cheeks and how his body hurt with the gaudy dark blue bruises littered upon his arms in vague shapes of fingers and the bruises littering his thighs and waist of a darker nature along with his back he was sure of it, and he would remember this emotion. Oh, he'd remember it but he seemed to harness inside of him to suck it up as his father often mentioned and he bit the inside of his cheek less he started screaming for he knew if he started he'd never stop. The anger festered inside of him like a fire had been lit beneath his skin burning away those scuttling insects of fear and this fire seared along his muscles and veins making quiet promises with each lick of this black anger and of what he could do, when he could do it and that all that stood between his goal and wants was just time and strength. Alastor could reflect on this moment for years and years but this anger, this blistering fire lit under his skin now, would never seem dull or faded, it will always be a burning star in his mind of how _good_ it felt to let himself feel something, anything, without restraint or worrying of another human being around him. He took a breath when he kicked the bin away and wobbled over to his bed sitting down with a huff as he stared up at the roof with an exalted feeling underneath the anger that rippled and coaxed the coals of his hatred in his stomach allowing it to burn brighter, hotter until it consumed his mind, for how long he had no clue. All he knew was it too five, ten heart beats until the anger left with promises of return and left him cold, shaking and awed at such an intense anger. 

He could go on and on about that anger but somewhere in the midst of that rise and fall of flames beneath his skin one word had been promised and one word was his goal. Revenge. He'd grow, he'd learn, he'd become stronger than his father and smarter than any other human around here and he'd prove them all wrong. _He_ would be the predator among their sheep like innocence, _he_ would have the upper hand of all those who gawked, who knew him and refused to help, all those who snickered behind their hands. He would be feared, he would be spoken about in hushed whispers, he would be gawked at not in mocking airs but with fear for what he could do. He would become an ultimate being higher than other humans and he was going to _be_ it. Alastor crawled under his sheets once more with his glasses safely on the bedside table and like a whispering through his mind the promises, the ideas, the plans scuttled through his mind when he laid his head on his pillow and like a demented, twisted lullaby the eight year old fell asleep with promises best not spoke aloud. 


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I go on talking here is a warning! There is sensitive stuff in the first half of this chapter relating to sexual abuse so please proceed with caution! Please! 
> 
> Now! Happy New Years everyone! It is officially 2020 and officially, three months until I turn twenty one! It's weird to think of but that's not the main focus right now! It's a new year and here is a new chapter! I took my time with it as I've been doing some school work and been really trying to get through a course so I can start my Civics course (hoping it'll be easy for me!) and I wrote this in between! It is currently two a.m while I write this second half but it was worth it to get a new chapter out! It's a bit dark, I know, but I'm thinking of doing a time jump very soon as I could do many chapters of him going from eight to nine, nine to ten and by then I feel like the feel will be worn out. So after chapter eleven there will be a time jump but I'll explain that later! My brain is a bit frazzled right now from fatigue and the Dr.Pepper is wearing out so read on to the new chapter and I hope you all have a fabulous New Years! 😄
> 
> P.S - And yes, shit is going to go DOWN from here on out, time skip included! 😉

It felt like an eternity had passed since Alastor had gotten any relief or any kind of break from the stressed that tugged at him constantly that murmured inane and bothersome questions that plagued him day in and day out until his head was aching and he could physically no longer handle it. Normally he'd go outside and run to get the stress off but his father rarely let him out, opting only to let Miss Ruth in to tutor him and even then his once scarce father lingered like a thick presence over the pair as they went through Alastor's work for the three to four hours she was there. Alastor was quite sure, at this point, he was getting cabin fever. He mostly got it in the winter but even then his mother was there for him to play outside with no worries but his mother wasn't here and it was the middle of October now leaving them horribly quiet with no updates on his mother's diagnosis of tuberculosis. She just laid in bed there listless, hacking and even raging with fevers that scalded Alastor when he would hold her hand at a safe distance and it seemed, more and more, that she was _not_ getting better but worse it seemed. It was like anxiety, the annoying little emotion, settled itself in his heart freezing it cold with each beat and he was always jumping at startling sounds, scared when the phone rang that it'd be news of his mother's passing, but any time he was before her he smiled wide and big like not a single thing bothered him. Oh, it drove him crazy! But seeing his mother withering, sick and weakly pathetic in the bed was an upsetting sight when the woman had been shouting and fierce not even two months ago before she got sick and now she laid there barely being able to breath on her own most days and needing a respirator. It was like the most precious thing was now being dangled on a string before Alastor and he couldn't reach it. 

The sky was dark by this time with his thoughts annoyingly loud while he looked to the window which would hold a wide world for him to breath, to run and to play which made his muscles contract with longing to be outside, to _breathe_. He shoved his face into the pillow trying to smother the feeling the only way he could and closed his eyes tight while his lungs slowly began to panic for air and burning like hot coals in his chest while he waited for the contracting of his muscles to stop, for the quivering of longing in his stomach that whispered along his skin to go away and for the restlessness to abate itself. He turned his head gulping in air to his hungry lungs sitting up with the blankets twisting tightly around his waist and legs like gripping hands trying to keep him still and he gulped the air down hungrily. It didn't feel deep enough, didn't feel like enough air was going down but slowly it was enough. Alastor rubbed his eyes fiercely wanting to put his glasses on but fought the urge when he stared at the blurry, fuzzy world around him then to the window where the moon shown it's weak light due to it's phase but it was enough to give a tiny dim glow to the world around him and in his bedroom without the need for a lamp and he stood. He walked over to his window deciding that if he wanted to torture himself right now then it would be this second and he walked up staring out at the fuzzy world but could easily make out the green blurs of the trees and dark clouds that floated like blobs across the sky and even then it was hard to see them, if at all, but the sight wrenched something inside of him so painful he gasped. 

The past month has been hell. Every day was hell. Every hour, minute, second, moment was _hell_. And he didn't know how much more he could take when he felt his eyes filling quick, so quick he had zero time to control the situation, when they spilled over his cheeks like hot drops of mercury and he felt his lip wobble when he pressed his forehead against the window taking a breath that hitched so fiercely his body shuddered with it. He missed his mother. He missed her soft voice waking him in the morning, giggling with him from time to time doing his work, her soft voice singing when she sat to crochet or do some needle point she'd been trying to teach herself, or the way he ran home to her after being outside of hours and she held her arms open with that wide excited smile. Like she was just as excited for him to come home to her as he was. It was _hard_ not coming home to that, not leaving, not going anywhere and feeling as though he wasn't moving forward anymore but like someone had hit his pause button that stretched on the longer his mother was in intensive care struggling to get better quickly for he saw the anxiety in her eyes when his father came to take him home. And he knew it wasn't helping her get better yet making her determined to get well at the same time but in the time she'd been gone Alastor felt like he couldn't be repaired. The night his mother left had switched something inside of him that lurked underneath his skin like a monster prowling, waiting, plotting and had a hatred so black it would rival his father's and devour it without a single thought. Something inside of him was different and he could see it each time he saw himself in the mirror or truly reflected upon himself he knew he was different, he knew that shooting and dismembering Jacob's body had definitely not been something a seven year old should be capable of and was so...twisted that there must have been something not right with him from the beginning. 

Or maybe, whispered a tiny traitorous thought, he was _fine_. Maybe, just maybe, like his mother said every human had a purpose no matter how big or small, that _that_ night had been his purpose. But then what would that mean right now? He felt his brows pulling together tightly when he frowned softly. If he was meant to do his purpose in life then shouldn't he be doing it now? Shouldn't he? He knew he wasn't and that he felt perfectly fine with not doing a single thing like that to another human being again for a while. For right now. But he knew the reasons were he was young, he was still weak, and he wasn't nearly as clever enough to pull it off that well but he had to clap himself on the back for he'd dismembered, cleaned the blood and hid the parts in the woods in such deep holes not a single human would think to look that he was smart. He _could_ be clever, he _could_ be smart enough to dispose of evidence but the itching inside of him was quiet and it was an itching he hand't known had been there until that night but now that it was quiet he could think about it without feeling like he was going to rip his skin off. Alastor took a deep breath feeling like if he was going to keep thinking of such things he'd stay awake and his father would be checking on him any moment and if he found him awake-

Alastor had that same sound pierce his head, that radio whine that dug into his head like clawing knives and he held his head squeezing his hair until the sound in his head died away and he could think around the sudden throbbing of his temples when he looked to the door of his room with hesitance. He couldn't let his thought finish and yet he couldn't remember how it _would_ finish yet his feet scurried to his bed crawling underneath the blankets to hide his head and curl into a ball on his side curling his body into the mattress that did it's best ot mold against his in response when he held his breath. He knew his father wasn't awake just yet but it was always late at night, darkest in the night, that his father would come creeping into his room to see if he was awake and- He flinched while a whimper slid out of his throat while he covered his face holding his breath yet again while forcing those scratching thoughts away. They could do so much damage and he didn't want to face it. Not now. He shoved them and locked them away with some difficulty but when he got it all locked away the boy was able to relax visibly when he wondered the last time he took a bath, the last time he was _really_ clean, and he couldn't remember and it made him blink. The only reason he noticed this was now that he was cocooned in the blanket with it held over his head that he could smell the rather disgusting scent of his own body that made the boy flinch again and he could feel his skin crawl with this unclean sensation that made him almost desperate to take a bath now. 

And yet it was his being dirty that kept him from being touched. That morning his father barked at him to take a damn bath because he "smelled worse than the damn rats pickin' at their trash" outside and he was starting to smell exactly like trash left out in the summer sun. Alastor could smell it fully now and it made his nose wrinkle with disgust at the thought of this smell originating from his body that he kept pristine and clean best as possible for a small boy to be for he was a child and he'd heard his mother state children were always dirty with something. Yet laying there on his freshly washed sheets the boy felt more disgusting than ever when he considered clawing his skin to make it clean but then the thought came that if he did that then the dirt would build under his nails and never come out. It made sleep dance even further out of his reach when he thought about his hygiene which was most definitely suffering at this point that when he grimaced he heard what he'd been waiting for since he left the bed and squeezed his eyes shut. Footsteps. Coming right to his room and his heart was pounding so fiercely, so quickly he feared he would vomit when the door creaked open and he heard his father walking over to the bed not bothering to shut the door behind him and Alastor forced every single muscle to hold still and feign sleep best as possible. It was quiet between his quiet, even breaths matching his father's and his jack rabbit heart beat that was threatening to jump right out of his chest if he wasn't careful. It was so quiet with his heart pounding and his blood rushing in his ears that he almost thought he missed his father's departure and before he could help himself he sighed out which was the mere trigger to set hell into play. 

The blanket was ripped off of him and he could smell the alcohol that immediately overpowered every single thing in the room as he shrieked in surprise and his legs flailed only to be forced down roughly while his father climbed onto his bed making Alastor gasp like he was choking for air. God, why was that alcohol all he could smell? All he could taste on his tongue? He wanted to stop gasping but he couldn't when his father was hovering above him and the boy kicked his legs up trying to get the man off of him when his fear kicked in like a slam in the ribs. " _Get off! Get off! Get off! Leave me alone! Get off!_ " 

The hand whistled so fast Alastor couldn't brace himself when it cracked against his face making him cry out loudly while struggling now shoving and hitting at his father but he was so _weak_. He was screaming actively even if he knew he wouldn't be heard for miles and that his mother was next door, wasn't anywhere in this house to save him from this merciless drunk on top of him and he was screaming with fervor _begging_ his father to get off while he kicked and screamed louder when his body was pinned down when his hand cracked against his cheek a second time. " _Shut up! Shut the fuck up!_ " 

"You can't hit me! Mama _said_ you can't hit me!" Alastor screamed the words with as much strength as possible when that hand then lifted dealing two more swift slaps to the same cheek that glowed with it's pain of heat and the boy was now hyperventilating so fast at the loss of his feet and legs, his healed one aching slightly, as they wriggled with little movement and he was screaming with all his worth when his father grabbed his hands and pinned then up above his head. " _Stop stop stop! Mama said you can't! You can't! I'll tell! I'll tell Mama! I'll tell the doctors! I'll everyo_ -" The hand slapped his cheek that screamed with pain after so many blows before it crushed his mouth under the hand and the boy was screaming so hard his throat hurt. 

"You won't tell _anyone_ , nothin' boy!" Samuel roared at the boy who was scratching the back of his hand screaming and breathing quickly through his nose. "I'll fuckin' _kill_ you before you say shit! And I can do whatever the hell I want to you! You came from _me,_ you're _my_ kid and I can do _anythin'_ I want to you!" Alastor's screaming might as well been shrieks that would break ear drums had the hand not been covering the mouth when his pajama shirt was ripped open and the boy was squirming frantically. "Thinkin' you can _lay_ there and lie 'bout bein' awake? Little shit! You should be grateful I ain't doin' worse to you!" 

Alastor was shrieking so fiercely under the hand his throat was begging him to stop, stinging and burning with the strain of his vocal cords but the boy was frantic to get his father off of him when his eyes widened and he bucked his body upwards trying, trying, trying so damn _hard_ to get the man off of him but in the end it was no use. This was a fully grown man with a man's strength, he was a still growing boy with zero to no strength. And yet he tried like hell when he felt clothing being slid down and the clink of his father's belt and he was sent in a frenzy sinking his teeth into his father's fingers so hard blood was drawn. Shouting out in pain Samuel took his hand away from Alastor's mouth who took a breath gasping fiercely into his hungry lungs when he was having his wrist squeezed so tight he felt burning pops as he was flipped over onto his stomach. " _No! No please! Stop! Stop! Stop!_ " 

Alastor would like to say that night his words got through to his father's alcohol soaked brain but for the life of him he couldn't dissociate, he couldn't block it when his face was shoved mercilessly to the mattress and he was gasping trying trying _trying_ to block it out but it wouldn't work. The only sound he could describe leaving his throat was a screamed sob, the sound so strangled but so shrill when pain ripped through him and he was sobbing wildly with no shame as he screamed words that fell on deaf ears and Alastor swore then that not a million baths could clean his disgustingly tainted flesh. Not a million cleansers could clean the damage and he could never scrub hard enough to rid himself of the evidence as he shrieked into the mattress at a world that would allow this, renouncing a God who looked on no doubt and did nothing and he wailed for his own snapped innocence. Not a thing, nothing could redeem him. Nothing, nothing, _nothing_ could stop the anger that opened it's arms like a black void as Alastor's sobs and screaming wails echoed in the room long after everything was still and quiet.

* * *

Alastor had no clue what time it was only that the sun was hot and unwelcome upon his pale skin where his eyes traced the veins beneath the ghostly skin of his that had grown paler it seemed from his unable to be in the sun and yet, while most believed sun grew children, he grew without it. He got air only by his window and often basked in the sun but laying in the half of his room in shadows, his hand outstretched towards the window he couldn't bring his aching body to move a single movement. His father had had a field day with him last night it would seem and each painful memory swam around Alastor's mind until it chomped down and bit him once more before swimming around again, lurking for a moment his guard was down and rip him apart but he never let it down when he stared at the dark bruises marring his skin when he lifted his eyes from the translucent veins of his inner elbow up to his wrist. His throat bore the same bruises of fingers, his thighs, his calf's, hell even his hips and his back was mottled with bruises that he could catch in the mirror and blood was smeared underneath his nose across his cheeks and his glasses had been placed askew on his face like it made up for all that took place.

Oh, his face got the brutal end of it that much was true! The cheek his father had smacked a multiple of times like rapid fire had swelled and turned a lovely shade of deep blue, his nose was throbbing from the punch his father delivered when he kept crying and wailing last night, screaming for help, and while he feared at first his nose was broken there was no pain other than the ache of cartilage leaving him relieved his nose wasn't broken and the left side of his forehead bore a large bump that was also a lovely black and blue hue. Basically this boy, head to toe, had a bruise somewhere some how on his pale skin and moving hurt like fire burning along his nerves and zipping up his spine devouring what it could and he honestly would say if he could cry he would right then but no tears came. His eyes were suspiciously dry and he was blank. He just wanted to lay there like a discarded doll, a toy unwanted, and he wanted to be left alone by the world if it was going to smack him down over and over until he was little more than a grain of sand that could do nothing to no one. Then he would remember Jacob. 

His lips parted slightly with a ragged breath that agitated his ribs but he blinked slowly fighting fatigue that was batting at him like a kitten would bat at yarn and he twitched his finger a few times with a few more blinks to wake himself up and will himself to move but he couldn't. It was strange that while he went along his life without a single thought about Jacob and what he did, it was coming across his mind more and more for the boy each time his father laid hands on him or touched him like he did last night with zero mercy and it only solidified his goal. Alastor had the perfect thought, the perfect ideal that if he was going to try it out on anyone, then Alastor would return the favor. He'd beat his father, he'd bruise him, he'd tie him to a damn chair and use him like a beating bag but he'd make it slow so when the time came Alastor would kill him. He _would_ kill Samuel Silas Roberts. Maybe a "hunting trip gone wrong" would be his perfect excuse but that seemed almost too easy for Alastor but his fingers itched to do it, his bloody burned in his veins and his muscles quivered with delight at the idea of his father at his feet still and bloody, still and cold, the way Alastor felt most days and it made his breath hitch. Perhaps, one day he'd do it. Perhaps one day he'd have the strength to do it. But he could say for sure he'd do it with a damn smile on his face and he'd be goddamn _cheerful_ while his father gurgled on his blood and choked. Alastor smiled weakly to himself now staring at his pale skin that all but glowed in the hot sun and he heard the downstairs door slam shut with the heavy steps signaling his father's return but with the weak smile on his lips Alastor refused to back down now that he had said his piece last night. 

If his father so much as _looked_ at him with that predatory edge Alastor would run out of these woulds screaming for help and he'd do it that instant. He'd tell his mother all his father had been doing, he'd have the doctors do a test if need be, but he'd _ruin_ Samuel Roberts by showing the world what he was. He'd show the world that Samuel Silas Roberts was a sick, wife and child abuser and a pedophile for all of New Orleans to know- no, for all of _Louisiana_ to know! He'd make sure every single person ushers their children away, he'll make sure that they all looked upon him with disgust and he'd make sure not a single woman would open her legs for him and if he wanted it that bad he'd have to leave the _s_ _tate_ just to get it. Alastor will ruin his father and he felt glee at the thought of doing it that his smile spread with a curl guiding the corners of his lips up. Yes, that seemed a good idea as any. Start small then go big the older he got until he was strong enough. In that moment it was the _perfect_ idea to the boy as he stared a beetled that scuttled across the palm of his hand and between his fingers with the tickle of it's legs and settled on his palm for a moment when his father pushed the door open and it was heavy in the air while Alastor stared at the beetle. 

"I told your Mama you weren't feelin' well so you won't be comin' to see her any time soon. She's, er, gettin' better!" It was pathetic. Here was a grown man trying to bring up the whole "please don't tell anyone, Alastor" conversation and yet when the eyes of the boy landed on Samuel he was silent. Those brown eyes were vacant like a house; all the lights were on and functioning but no one was home. "Yeah. Just thought you'd like to know your Mama was gettin' better and all that. Mrs. Foster will be by today to make lunch and dinner for you but I'd prefer it if you stayed in your room for now." He went to leave then paused looking over his shoulder at Alastor. "By the way, you seen Jacob Foster? He's gone missin' and his Mama is sendin' out a search party tonight so I won't be home." 

It was silent like he was waiting for Alastor to respond to his question but when he got that same blank, vacant look from the boy that sent shivers crawling up his spine the man left and Alastor waited until the boots were down the stairs before he sat up scaring the beetle that scuttled to the back of his hand when he flipped his hand over. "Interesting. I wonder why she took so long to send out a search party? Or is the millionth one? It's weird being so far away from the city I have no clue what's going on!" Alastor noted to the beetle or the empty room he wasn't sure but what he was sure of was the smile curled over his lips again with a laugh barking out of his throat at the mere _thought_ of his father scrounging the woods for the son of the woman he'd been sleeping with. Oh, the irony! The image of his father marching in the very woods he hated having strangers in searching for a boy dead and gone for a month because his mother seems to be in a frenzy over it when she never cared what Jacob did or where he went or how long he was gone for. He laughed again throwing his head back in mirth and laughed for his worth the way he'd screamed last night and his throat burned at the laughter that bubbled out but try as he might he couldn't stop it. 

"It's funny, isn't it?" Alastor gasped looking at the beetle realizing _he_ , an intellectual, was talking to an insect that had no real coherent thought process yet carried on a conversation with one. "That _man_ thinks he can redeem himself! It's funny!" The way he spit out the word was hilarious apparently and Alastor was wild with his laughter for a few moment making the beetle crawl across his hand anxiously as it bobbed viciously with his laughter. "I wonder if he'll get in trouble. Oh, would that be a treat?" The buzz of wings flapping made the boy sigh when he walked to the window struggling to his feet and walking to the window opening it easily sticking his hand out. "Go. No need to stay in this jail cell with me when it's a perfectly beautiful day out, alright?" 

And like that the beetle took off into the blue sky until it was nothing more than a speck when Alastor got a delicious, beautiful plan in his mind. True, he was the only one who knew better than any other human being on the Earth what happened to Jacob and where his parts lay, but he had the most beautiful plan to ever unfold in his mind. If, say one boy came out as sexually abused by a man with clear violence issues and an alcohol problem, what would the police think? What would the whole _city_ think? If it turned ugly, if it turned to murder suspicions, then Alastor James Roberts would have the upper hand for he could do some beautiful damage to one man. He could get his father to take the fall for murder with three simple words to the police and to poor Mrs. Foster. "I. Saw. Everything~" The words were sung to the blue sky and Alastor rested his face in his hands chuckling despite the pain and he sighed. 

Of course he'd have to wait for his mother to get better before saying anything for he was going to be anything _but_ a ward to the city or worse, thrown in a group home with other boys his age and that was just not going to do at all for him if he was going to carry out what he planned. His mother, his beautiful sweet mother, just needed to get better and she needed to be well for him so he could finally get Samuel Silas Roberts out of their lives and the sooner he did it the sooner they'd be free of it. Sure, he could manipulate his mother's memories of that night but did he truly need too? Surely anyone could line his father up as a suspect for a murder case for everyone knew about his father's aggressive drinking, his abusive nature and his violent anger but they didn't know _how_ bad but Alastor could turn a light on that could be seen from space. Alastor smiled to himself feeling it more a smirk than anything but he was nearly delirious and truly didn't care if it was a smile or smirk, for it didn't matter. He was euphoric, bubbly, cheerful for _he_ had the upper hand and his father had no clue. For the first time in eight years, maybe even the first time since he'd been born, Alastor would have the upper hand against his father and it made something dark, something cold inside him pulse with joy as it grew just a little bigger. 


	11. Author's Note. Will I ever stop making these for this story?

**So, I'm back, obviously! But I am so so sorry for making another note but damn I've been absolutely negligent with updating the story or working on the chapter at all. I've been really working and caught up in my schooling, Civics being the thing that is kicking my ass right now, but it's taking up a lot of my time, time I want to use to write but I don't. I mean, it's no excuse as I've been revising and rewriting old chapters of my Small Nation's story on my other pseud yet I feel the three stories I have on this one and the series I've just subconsciously put on hold. I feel so bad about the chapter, which I'm scrapping to write over again and for making another author's note like this and like the title above says: Will I ever stop having an author's note or update in this story? I'm so so sorry, I feel like I'm truly slacking in the ways that I need to pick up on but Civics is just making me waste away. There's so much about the US government I have to study on and it's frying my brain pretty bad and by the time I sit down to write the only thing I do is work on the revisions for my Hetalia series. I feel bad.**

**Like, I feel shitty. I've been trying to write on the chapter I have written already but it feels like I have this big reluctance in my fingers when it comes to working on it which is when I got the idea to just scrape the one I have in progress but it also kills me to do it. But I might have too. I don't have the gusto or the idea to finish what I have written for chapter eleven so it'll be scrapped and come out as chapter twelve but honestly it hurts my head to figure out the future timeline I have set out as I hate using time skips and fillers but something I want to do for I can't keep dragging out the child hood. I mean, shit, I've got to get a move on! Especially if I want to do other stories for Angel Dust, Nifty, Husk and Vaggie! Plus I'm thinking of doing a bonus little story for this story, at the end, with Charlie but that's waaaaay in the future towards the series ending though! But I decided to make a note to let people know what was going on, that I didn't give up the story nor abandon it, but I will be working on revising my Hetalia series for a while and begin working on the new chapter for this story. So please, hang on for me! I'll be more consistent again, I promise! I'm just scared I might have burned myself out with all my eager writing in the beginning, you know? But I will be getting the new chapter out, I'll finish my Civics so it isn't kicking my ass anymore and hopefully I'll finish up school soon!**

**I will come back with another new chapter though! I am sorry for another note but thank you guys for being so patient and fabulously supportive of the story! So thank you, very much for both, and I'll be back with a whole new chapter! Thank you once again, though, for you're all sweet and pretty supportive so thank you all! I'm slowly finding my balance so don't worry bout that! See you all later!**

**~Kim**


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been two straight months since I've updated this story, updated my Good Omen's fic as well, but I'm back! I'm going to be balancing out the revisions as well but somethings have been changing rather weirdly! One of them being my friend had me branch out and I am now doing my own gaming channel on Youtube! So that's been taking up a bit of my time, revising my Hetalia series, and I've been busy with school and home life as well. But I've been thinking about this series as well and I'm back to continue it! So here's the first chapter in a while, I'll definitely try to keep updating this story until I finish it! I'm already thinking of ways to end it! Also, this chapter is long but I got kind of carried away, if that isn't obvious haha! But I'm to bed early tonight, I make a video for my Youtube channel and bed early for I get to see my nieces tomorrow! Enjoy the new chapter and thank you for all of your kind patience! 🙂

Watching the sun dip in the sky Alastor could feel the sticky air clinging to his exposed flesh in the closed off room while focusing his eyes on the sunset while the clink of his father's belt sounded in the room like some kind of white noise for him. His body ached, his very bones seemed to burn with the pain that buzzed and clicked underneath his skin like the swarm, the infestation of festering insects had broken loose under his skin running rampant. His eyes focused on that burning sun that painted the sky hues of gold and ruby, the dying light trying in vain to light the world for a few more moments yet it went down like all good things must and even if his eyes were throbbing, burning he stared out the window. He thought the day would end on a good note when he was granted permission to see his mother who was rapidly gaining her strength after the few months of intensive care and medicine the woman seemed on the threshold of coming home. It was his understanding from what the doctors told her when he'd been in the room that tuberculosis symptoms could still act up as it was deduced she must have contracted the disease a few years ago giving her the Latent Tuberculosis, inactive in her system but had been activated in the few months of her decreasing health. When she got home she would have to keep taking the medicines she was being given now but that was all Alastor could focus on; his mother would be home soon. 

It buzzed his veins. Soon, soon, soon. He wanted to cry for that soon felt so far away with each zip and clink of noise his father made but he knew soon enough, if he just gave it some more time, he'd have his upper hand. But just how long would he run in this loop of agony? How long would he subjugate himself to his father's whim just to hide it? His father was a lower being, an insect beneath his feet, and yet he was the single strongest insect Alastor had the misfortune of knowing and such a disgusting creature could kill him with zero remorse if pushed towards it. Alastor finally dragged his eyes from the setting sun which burned his eyes still for he refused to blink for the moment he did he'd tear up so his gaze instead focused on the ceiling above him with an intensity he tried to feign as blank. Why he still referred to Samuel Roberts as his father he had no clue, all he knew was he needed to label this man as _something_. He didn't technically need to label Samuel as his father, he could simply refer to him as his first name, but that strangely felt more personal to Crowley than admitting he was his father and he needed a connection of sorts. There needed to be _something_ in himself that resonated with the man but what _was_ it? 

"We'll go see your Mama tomorrow. Said she's feelin' lots better and she might be comin' home soon enough." Samuel muttered out like it was supposed to be some kind of apology or excuse for his behavior but Alastor kept his lips tightly pinched together. His father looked over at him, gritting his teeth for a moment, and Alastor wondered where the blow would be delivered next and whether it would hurt ten times as worse than his hips did right now when the man blew out a slow breath. "Whatever. You clearly either aren't hearin' me or ignorin' me but if that's the case then fuckin' fine. Make sure the doors are locked, I won't be home tonight and there's somethin' wonderin' around the woods lately that folks have been seein' from the city so I won't be here to protect ya if somethin' busts in, get me?" 

Never had there ever been a more inappropriate time to laugh than there was right then when Alastor stared up at the ceiling while keeping his face blank and neutral so his father would see the mirth at his words simmering in his chest the way his mother's jambalaya did. Keeping his lips tightly pinched together was also the only way he could keep the swarm underneath his skin from swarming out of his mouth with their clicking legs and humming wings to devour the top layer of his flesh then burrow in for their constantly crawling of under his skin trying to get through didn't seem to work. They wanted out and they wanted to carve into him but keeping his jaw tight and lips together kept them from spilling out then and he kept his breathing even although he wanted to gasp for air for it felt that millions, billions even, of glassy wings were flapping in his lungs making him short of air. He kept silent until his father's heavy boots walked across the floor then slammed the door behind him and Alastor twisted his head just a bit to make sure he was actually _gone_ gone and gulped air into his hungry lungs when he was sure his father truly was walking down the hallway. He sat up moving his hand through his hair slowly, the locks twisting around his bruised, aching fingers from his father's tight hold moments ago and he swung his legs slowly over the edge of the bed hating that when he looked at his sheets there'd be a red smear on the blanket from the man's violent actions and he felt sick to the deepest pit of his stomach. He clenched his teeth forcing himself to stand up walking stiffly across the room wondering if he should just sleep in his mother's bed, the large poster bed that his father never slept in anymore so he had the strongest feeling that his mother's smell would still be imprinted in the sheets and pillows. It _had_ to be. 

Taking a deep breath to his lungs he felt the glassy wings stirring deep in his lungs making them ache while the insects festered, crawling always crawling, along the underside of his skin and along his veins like they were searching for something to bring them satisfaction and he covered his face for a moment. He wanted nothing more than to finish it all off, tie up his loose strings but he needed patience. He'd be older in the blink of an eye, he knew that, but why was it so horribly and terribly far away? He stiffly grabbed a fresh pair of pajama's, deciding a night in his home would do him better, and he limped out of his room across the hall to the bathroom while his legs protested with bolts of pain where his father had dug his knees in to keep him from kicking him and flailing about for his own wrists had the same deep bruises and pain when he moved his hands. He didn't feel like climbing in the bath with his aching burning body that throbbed with the electricity of pain but he wanted to get the smell off of his skin, the smell that made him gag when he lingered too long in one place and he turned the water on hoping for it to fill quickly when he stared at the red line his father had painted on the tub was withering away slowly but surely making him smirk with the insects swarming his nerves. His skin twitched and jumped with each stroke of the insects legs to his nerves like they were playing a violin, hitting all the spots that made him jump to move or react a certain way when he stuck his hand in the hot water feeling the twitching sensation in his hands and wrists disperse slowly. Of all the areas these insects swarmed his hands were the worst for the insects there were slim and tiny crawling in crevices that were slowly driving him mad and he was lying if he didn't think about cutting them off once or twice. The hands that his father had once praised to be as soft as his mother's. 

Taking breathes through his nose Alastor felt a wave of nausea when he clung to the edge of the bath wondering if these episodes where his father touched, caressed, hurt and bruised him all came to one thing but he also wondered just where his father got his sick tendencies from for his grandparents were completely normal. In fact, from his grandmother had told him his father had grown up as privileged as a boy with his skin could get away with and it had shocked Alastor for the comment had sounded slightly racist coming out of his grandmother's mouth but she'd laughed and waved his comment away saying it was truer than the blue sea. His father was spoiled rotten, a smart boy who thought himself the cleverest thing that ever walked the Earth which just made Alastor's skin crawl when he was compared to his father by his grandparents and despised any likeliness he got from that man but it was like lines were blurring between his father and himself in their similarities. The only difference is Alastor was going to _do_ something about these insects that festered under his skin, bred and born new rounds of insects that chewed at him from the inside out as they made their home under his pale skin so much like his mother's and he wanted to scream. Most people would carve away at their skin but Alastor felt too refined himself to ever take a blade to his alabaster skin but it was TEMPTING that often or not he stared at those blades while listening to the whine of the radio and swore he could hear those sharp edged utensils singing to him, luring him to them through the whine of that damn radio that barely picked anything up. 

Turning the water off Alastor held his breath before taking his glasses off, braced his hands on the edge of the tub and swung one leg over the side of the tub only to bite his lip so hard he swore he'd break skin and he slapped a hand over his mouth when the pain ripped through him like greedy flames wanting to combust him. He screamed into his hand when he panted through his nose, needing to stop for just a few moments to gather himself, only to swing his other leg in which caused him to splash in the hot water that lapped as his burning skin like it was trying to sooth away his blinding pain. His hand remained over his mouth when he took deep calming breathes through his nose shutting his eyes tight when his head spun like a whirlpool, everything swirling in the same direction on a loop that made him want to go mad but fought the urge to scream out against the black nails that scratched at his mind and the insects that hummed, clicked under his skin along his nerves. Opening his eyes Alastor removed his hand from his mouth only to see a red droplet hit the water. He wasn't sure what was so fancy about the way it fanned out but Alastor's eyes were riveted to watching the droplet of blood spreading out like a scarlet ribbon in the clear water only to thin itself out in the water like it had never been there in the first place. 

He'd bitten into his lip splitting it which left him to guess he did it when he'd been biting his lip then shoving his hand fiercely against his mouth which must have caused something to bite in a little too deep but that wasn't his concern right then when he looked at his palm with a single trail of blood, barely even a trail, but one that got his eyes riveted to it. It spread on his palm like it was trying to soak into all the little creases of his palm desperately, as if it could leech into his skin back into his veins like it belonged but couldn't manage it and he blinked a few times staring at the scarlet of thin blood on his palm when he wanted- no, _needed_ , compelled to put his hand down. The water seemed to dissolve quickly on his palm when it was submerged under the hot water, the blood twisting to a pale little ribbon that swirled before disappearing leaving the water clear once more as he stared at his palm that bore no trace of blood while his lips started throbbing. Then he licked his lip capturing a droplet of blood admiring the rusty taste of his blood, like he'd just stuck a coin into his mouth to suck on, but there was an edge to his taste buds that strangely didn't mind the metallic taste so he soon found himself sucking on his injured lip experimentally. It didn't take long for him to suck the blood out of his lip, all the blood the cut was willing to leak out, and he was then left sucking on his lip prodding the wound with his tongue trying to bubble up more blood only to be left disappointed and he released his lip sighing out. It throbbed as any wound would but he turned his attention to scrubbing at his skin in hopes of getting it clean even when it felt there was absolutely no use to this he scrubbed at his skin wondering how women did anything with his father in this manner, not that he did it willingly like them. 

The smell that always lingered in the air after intercourse disgusted Alastor for the scent lingered in his room, in his pillows, in his cheeks with the reek of his shame and tears mingling with the sweat of his father's skin and the musk that always clung to him. It would soak, leech into everything Alastor owned that he couldn't bear to lay in his bed after these episodes too place so it often left him sleeping with his mother or on the floor with spare blankets and a pillow for it was always just too much. His father often bragged that when he was older that he'd love the smell for Roberts men were "always drippin' in women!" or at least that was the more polite way of how he phrased it, not that Alastor would even _think_ such crude language and frowned as he scrubbed his pale skin until it began turning red. His mother never smelt disgusting like the other women who came to the house to be with his father, in fact Alastor hardly knew when his mother and father were together in that way for his mother always smelt like sweat, yes, but it was mingled with the soft lingering smell of her perfume that clung to everything she touched and even in the fresh laundry she would do that he often got teased for smelling feminine. Alastor never had a problem for it was how his mother smelled and it felt like he as carrying a bit of her essence with him when he went outside to play and he could gulp in her soft perfume before the heady scent of wet ground, mossy trees and humid air would wash out the scent. 

He always wondered what his mother ever saw in Samuel Silas Roberts, if there was something peculiar or something trans formative about him, rather than them just being stuck together because he was a byproduct of their recklessness but he'd never had the nerve to question her. If he was an accident, so be it, he had his mother and that's all he needed but he always wondered why she stayed when his father was obviously the shittiest, disgusting man on the face of the planet but again it wasn't his place to question her on what was going through her head when she married this man. Tilting his head back Alastor washed his hair, scrubbing the locks fiercely while tilting his head back to rinse it out in the water and he scratched his scalp while he did so and shut his eyes wondering for the millionth time if his mother truly missed him or if he was just some runt she put up with. His father told him a million times his mother never wanted him, that he was a runt she gave birth too and couldn't give up no matter how much he begged her too, she loved him because he was "a pale, scrawny lookin' thing that didn't look a thing like me but she wanted ya" and that had been that. It didn't take a rocket scientist to tell him that his father hated him for some reason, he always knew the man hated him he just never saw the reasons as to why the man did but now with his own hatred simmering in him he truly couldn't give any cares over whether his father approved of him or not. His father was the _last_ person on the planet he'd ever worry about liking him. 

As far as Alastor cared his father could not come home, get mauled by whatever beast was slinking around in the woods and he wouldn't care one little bit to see it. Honestly, his father wouldn't care if he died so why should he care if the man never came home? If it was just him and his mother working and getting along together then why did they need Samuel? Alastor scoffed at himself when he washed his hair in the water, a smile tugging at his lips for he knew that his mother would never leave Samuel because while the answer was painful it was a very obvious one if a person got right down to thinking about it. His mother, very sadly and unfortunately, a weak willed woman when it came to the men in her life so all it would ever take from his father was a few "I'm sorry's" and a handful of "I'll never do it again" to get her to forgive him as easily as he'd made the ache in her heart. She strives to keep her small, dysfunctional family together no matter what came out of her mouth but Alastor just wanted to see his family break apart with himself and his mother standing then it'd be just fine. If Alastor had his mother, no matter what condition his heart was in, he'd be happy. He'd have to be, right?

* * *

_Choking. He was choking but on what? He didn't have a clue what it was but his throat felt like it had shrunken, tightened in on itself like glue had been poured down his throat to dry there sealing his throat off and he gagged, gasping for the air into his hungry lungs. The insects whirred under his skin, feasting on his muscles rendering them useless with the screams that resonated in his head while he clawed at his throat like it might get the flesh to mold to his fingers, allow the air to flow into his lungs. Each minute burned while he clawed but got nowhere only to find that not a single mark was on his throat, not a single scratch but was instead smooth like marvel which he'd failed to notice when he looked at his fingers. His nails were peeling back, cracked or broken, leaking blood and staining the pads of his fingers when he gripped his throat on a wave of agony that assaulted him and he rolled off the bed slamming to the floor. The insects were devouring him alive, he was trying to breathe, the air was a scratched whisper making him hope he was getting somewhere. It was burning, his skin was melting with sweat it felt and he jerked, his knees sliding on the floor while his upper body failed him while he gagged watching the black dots of unconscious dancing in his eyes but it felt wrong._

_He was screaming, shrieking with each burning pinch, bite and sting from the insects dining on his muscles and nerves as he writhed on the floor with unbearable agony ripping through him and he clawed at his flesh that had gave no resistance. Like he had been made out of pure marble to allow the agony to destroy him on the inside and the screaming in his mind ricocheted upwards when he writhed his back arching then slamming on the floor like it would help but it sent the insects into a fit. He screeched in his head, the burning pain ripping as they ate away at him faster and his feet slid uselessly, lifting his hips only to slam down leaving him to roll onto his stomach making him feel like a groveling dog but he needed it **over**. Why? Why why why? Why was he suffering? Was he dying? Was this what dying felt like? He felt the tightness of his throat slowly easing but not fast enough for him to get the gulping air into his lungs like they screamed for rather than the thin little airway he had and he hated the sound that came out of him when his hands gripped the shirt covering his chest. He wheezed, the sound tight and squeaky to his ears when his agony took on a whole new level as he writhed in the unbearable agony of the feast occurring beneath his marble skin. It burst open. He gagged on a half used scream watching the insects streaming out of his chest, his hands shaking when the skin ripped open on his thighs, his hands, his arms his face allowing a torrent of insects of all shapes and sizes to pour out of his skin when he surged to his knees vomiting. _

_He opened his eyes only to see the insects now squirming out of his mouth to his hands below a milky white that squirmed in a way that had him gagging, liquid of some kind dripping out of the corners of his mouth to slide down his chin and drip down. Maggots. They writhed on his hands like they ached to return to his throat while the insects crawling under his shirt tore, eating his marbled skin making him scream with an unhinged edge to the sound, hysterically tugging at his shirt to get them **out** before they ate all of him. He needed out. Standing up he found he no longer felt like lead but rather like air when he ran across the room stomping on insects feeling them crack and squish under shin, thoraxes crushing beneath his feet and the slick of guts on the bottoms of them but when he threw open his door he felt his breath hitching to hysterical. It had to be dream. It **had** to be. Maggots dripped from the ceiling to the floor, the walls or anything they could get too for it seemed the entire inside of his house, the hall and stairs even the_ **_door_** , _was made of a rancid rotting meat that oozed blood and puss that made his skin crawl. Out. Get out and he'd find his head, right?_

_He took breathes hearing the glassy wings behind him whirring, the clicks or chirps the other insects gave with it, sounded as if in a wave that had him running down the hallway with a scream building when he tore the maggots at his skin when they dropped. He couldn't rip his hair out but they squirmed, writhed through his hair along his scalp when he thudded down the stairs that became slick with the blood and puss that nearly made him slip when he swore if he fell on these stairs he'd die for real. When he got to the bottom he flinched running on the floor to the doorway only to hesitate staring at the maggot riddled, puss oozing door with the door handle made of insects that threatened to devour the skin hanging off of his hands and he gasped wondering when he'd wake up. Or was this reality? Running up to it he needed air that didn't smell like rotting flesh and he reached out grabbing the door knob that bit and devoured the skin of his hand slowly when he threw it open and shook his hang but they clung stubbornly to his hand until he ripped them off with chunks of meat in their pincers making him wince. Running into the trees around him he gasped in air but all he could smell, all he could taste, was rotting flesh until a grunting guttural growl made him freeze in his tracks feeling his breath stop in his throat._

_It stumbled out as if blind, a puppet of meat barely hanging on to it's form, when it's head wheeled towards Alastor pinning him in place while he took in the black ooze dripping from it's eyes, the matted fur that either stuck out like mange or completely bald in others the hooves dug into the ground with shaking trembling legs missing hunks of meat and sores oozing on most of it's hide towards it's throat. He didn't dare call this-this **thing** a deer but it was clear what it was even if it was the most horrific deer anyone should unfortunately lay eyes on and that guttural growling, morel like a gurgling, rang out again. It's teeth pulled back away from it's lips revealing cracked or missing teeth that were gray, black in areas, but coated in blood when it stumbled forward a few clumsy steps towards him like it couldn't see through the film coating it's- he nearly shrieked. No eyes. It had only one empty socket but the other had an eye dangling by the muscle down it's face and swinging past it's jaw making him shiver in horror at the residual pain that twinged in his own eye but that same gurgling sound left it's bared teeth. He opened his mouth when it lunged his teeth sinking into his throat when he felt the pain radiating, blood welling in his mouth only for the deer to-_

Alastor bolted up gasping for air, his hands shaking as they cupped his neck while sweat slid down his face and body making his pajama's stick to him rather unpleasantly in the early morning heat and he felt the smooth warmth of his throat. The skin molded, giving against the pressure of his seeking fingers so unlike the marble texture of his dream and his skin was itching but only with the sweat left from his dream and he fell backwards gulping air down into his hungry lungs. Staring up at the ceiling the images seemed forever seared into his mind from such a horrific dream, such a _realistic_ dream, and yet he wanted nothing more than to forget it already when his body instinctively flinched against the cicadas noise outside and the buzzing hum of a mosquito circling his head looking for a good spot to land. Jerking himself up right he rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes when he stood up off the bed only to find his legs were shaking and yet his pants clung to him too snugly, too annoyingly that when he looked at the sheets he felt his face burn with shame and he then looked down tugging at his pants that were much too slick for just sweat. He'd wet the bed. Alastor was alone yet he felt like there was a million eyes on him, judging him, and he felt the mortification gripping his body like a physical being which in turn made him cover his burning face feeling that burning weight against his eyes only to drip into his hands. _And_ he was crying? 

What kind of morning was this? "The worst possible morning going strong." He whispered into his palms yet he knew he had other mornings that would make this one mild on comparison yet he felt the tears gathering thickly in his eyes making it hard to even see his palms when he sniffled. He felt like a pathetic, weak little child sniveling and crying over wetting the bed but he couldn't seem to help it when the tears flowed faster making it hard for him to think around them. He let himself fall onto his knees hiccuping a weak noise as his skin itched with the cooling liquid on his pants making him want to cry out louder but he didn't want another being, insect or human, to hear him then as he struggled to keep quiet. 

_Oh, Alastor, did you wet the bed? Come here, baby and I'll make it all better!_

His head jerked up at the whispered words in his ears, in his _mother's_ voice, and yet when he looked up he was alone as ever with the tears gushing down his cheeks at the loneliness that gripped him like an unforgiving hold and he choked out a sob. "Mama, Mama!" He whimpered the word out covering his wet eyes with his palms wondering just how long he'd stay this pathetic when he knew he was stronger than this but damn him he missed her warmth, her smell. "Mama, I'm sorry!" 

_Baby, it's alright! Don't fret so much, everyone wets the bed at least once or twice in their life! You know you're Daddy wet the bed one time? I don't think it's a big deal, darlin', it's not a big deal so don't cry, it's okay!_

He swore he could feel her hands on his hair stroking it softly, her sweet soft scent in his nose and the warmth of her body wrapping around him as he sat trembling on the floor sniffling into his palm sobbing out with earnest now. He felt her hands trying to reveal his wet face like she always did but he knew it wasn't real, how could it be? He was just imagining her there when realistically she was still in the hospice getting better but her voice was so real, her warmth just as vivid, and he gasped in a breath that shook and hiccuped. "What did I ever do, Mama? What? Was it because I was born that I'm so hated? Is there something inside of me that's wrong than others? Why, Mama? What did I _do?_ If I knew I'd fix it, I would!" 

_Ain't **nothin'** wrong with my boy! You are who you are, Alastor, so don't let no one tell you otherwise! Your Daddy is a mean, angry man but he loves you and I love you, darlin'. If I love you then you know there ain't one thing wrong with you._

"But how? How do you know? My dreams are scaring me, Mama! Make them go away, please! Make _him_ leave me alone, it hurts, it all hurts, Mama!" Alastor cried out tilting his face up now the tears bubbling on his lashes only to gush down his cheeks when he felt her hands on his face, wiping his tears even if he realistically still felt them running down his cheeks and he sobbed out keeping his eyes closed. If they stayed closed she was here, right? "Mama, it's too painful! it hurts too much, I can't take it no more! Why can't he just _stop?_ " 

_Like I said, baby, your Daddy is mean and angry but where he's cold, where he's vicious as a viper you have me, darlin', and I'd never leave my sweet boy alone. I'm always gonna be here with you 'cause if I'm goin' somewhere you're goin' with me for I ain't goin' no where without you, darlin'. You're such a good boy, Alastor, I know you are which means I don't have to worry do I? You're goin' to grow up even more handsome than your Daddy, you're going to be the perfect kind gentleman to your own lady and you'll become ten times the man your Daddy is, you hear me? You'll be the best man I ever did have the pleasure of havin' and raisin'!_

"I'm the _only_ boy you're raising, Mama." His sobs quieted for a moment when he spoke, taking a breath then fighting the urge to open his eyes, to seek out her warm brown irises and familiar face framed by her dark hair. His breath was shaking breath when he sucked it in, focusing instead when her thumbs stroked his cheeks with a touch so real he wondered how she possibly couldn't be there. Her soft voice a mere whisper in his ear was just as real then as he then rubbed at the tears on his lashes. "But how do you know that, Mama?" 

_Because I know, that's how._

It was silent then while Alastor took breathes that shook, trembled like the rest of him and he waited for her soft touches and warmth once more but was left with a chill that could only be the sweat chilling on his skin and his pants gluing themselves to his skin coldly. He opened his eyes only to feel tears bubble down his cheeks knowing he was still alone, still on his own and his mother was miles away recovering best she could just so she could be here with HIM and it broke his heart. How did one person hold so many tears? He thought he didn't care anymore, didn't he? Yet here he was bawling his eyes out because he wet the bed and missed his mother, his reasons for tears no different than a child's and he hiccuped into his hands that rubbed at his tears knowing he could cry all he wanted, wish all he wanted, but he'd still be here. Alone. Standing up on shaking legs he grabbed his clothing for the day and walked across the hall to the bathroom to take another bath in a little of two days and turned the faucet on, watching the water fill the tub before taking a breath rubbing his tears away locking them off for the moment for he had things to do today and walked back to his bedroom. He yanked the soaked sheets off his bed leaving them in a pile to wash and rushed back to the bathroom turning the hot water off shedding his shirt and soaked pants climbing into the tub only to see a droplet of red hit the water. He touched his lip realizing it must have started to scab over during the night but he broke it open when he woke, he just didn't feel it, and he licked his lip wiping the blood off his chin where he'd mistaken it to be tears yet the blood kept bubbling so he did as he had the other night. He sucked on his lip. 

He figured the blood of his mouth, in his dream, had been because of his dream but his hands touched his neck to make sure it was still smooth, unmarred by those horrid teeth and he frowned wondering where such a dream came from then shook it off. Dreams were dreams and they didn't _mean_ anything. He yawned with a sigh mixed in then began washing his skin wondering when his father would be home for he was leaving today and he sure as hell didn't have a house key but he'd be leaving to meet Miss Ruth in the neighborhood just out of the woods and he'd be going to spend the day with his mother. If something was wondering around the woods then he was going to just have to accept the possibility it was a person sneaking around and if their house was broken into would it really be his fault? Of course. Did he care if his father got angry? No. So after scrubbing his skin in order to remove the residue sensations of his dream he bent his head scrubbing his hair fiercely, the hot water lapping at his lip while he sucked on his lip until the coppery, metallic taste faded away slowly like water tapering off and he then sighed softly. Finishing up with his bath Alastor grabbed a towel only to note he'd have to do the laundry soon since his father certainly wouldn't and rubbed his wet skin dry then proceeded to get dressed, walk back to his room for his glasses, cap and shoes. When he put on his glasses he noticed some movement among the trees near his window but then again wild animals were always around the house scavenging and his father told him to leave them be then they'd leave him be so he shrugged it off when he bent tying his shoes tightly. 

He'd endure the nightmares heavy effects for the day until he could get to his mother who would kiss, hug and croon the effects awake like she always did which made him smile softly at the prospect of seeing her. After tying up his shoes he walked along the floor noting just how loud the soles of his shoes were against the floor but he ignored it in favor of rushing down the stairs to grab his coat when he noticed out the kitchen window that same rustling in the trees making him stop, a chill sweeping over him. What could it be? A bear? No, couldn't be. He'd never seen a bear in his life so why would he see one now? He had a light tremble to his body at the thought of leaving the house now, hating how he felt like he was being hunted and he took a breath walking to the front door waving off his irrational fear in favor of opening the door stepping out onto the stairs when he looked over. Every muscle locked down, his mind froze with his world, his eyes widening when he watched it stumble out of the foliage that surrounded the trees and he wanted to scream for how? How was it possible? It stumbled as if confused, disoriented with a fine lines of drool dripping from it's lower jaw like it was producing too much saliva and it's eyes focused on not one particular thing and then it's eyes wheeled in their sockets only to land on Alastor. He could see his own terror stricken face in it's glassy eye that was not the normal appearance of a deer, saw his own hand trembling on the door with his legs. 

He honestly thought if hadn't wet the bed, much to shameful admission, he would have wet himself right that second for what were the odds? How did he have a dream about one horribly disgusted, half decomposed deer only to come face to face with a clearly _sick_ one? He gasped low trying to keep quiet for there was only one thing Alastor could figure for if it was any other sickness it'd be obvious but this one had been ravaging most animals during the summer, had been infecting many but it'd always been far from his home so they never encountered such animals but looking at it, at the way it's fur was slightly matted like it had been stumbling into mud puddles was clear. Rabies. The deer was rabid and it was staring at him like it could see into his soul when it appeared to become agitated in a matter of seconds, it's hoofs beating the ground while snorts flew out of it and he choked on his air. He stumbled back a hysterical sound on his lips that sounded nothing like himself for the deer could knock this door down if it was determined enough to get to him and he nearly fell in tha t cliche way but stayed on his feet when the deer charged at him. There was a loud bang that echoed in the woods, the deer wobbling losing it's speed and intensity of the charge to wobble on it's legs before flopping to it's side silently for a moment or two when he then watched the blood slowly seeping onto the matted hide. 

"What have I taught you, boy? Since when do you turn into a snivelin' scared little bitch when I _taught_ you to go for your gun first sign of trouble!" He looked over to watch his father marching over with a scowl on his face and Alastor wanted to ask how long he'd been there when he then got caught off with a sneering look that wasn't as intense as the normal one. "I don't need no snivelin' bitch as a son. You goin' to see your Mama?" He nodded when Samuel moved his hand through his hair and sighed. "No need. She's comin' home today. Ruth offered to bring her home rather than me catchin' bus after bus just to get here since Mrs. Foster's hubby got home and don't want me usin' her car no more while he's in town." 

Ah, that explained it then. He stood on trembling feet when his father walked over, careful to avoid the deer in favor of walking up the stairs ushering Alastor inside and he walked to the phone with Alastor watching curiously. "That...That deer was rabid, right?" He asked on a quivering voice, unsure of if it was the effects of fear from the deer or if it was fear for asking his father a question but either way needed to get it out. "Does that mean it's spreading over here too?" 

"I don't know. Maybe. I'm gonna make some calls and if need be we'll be stayin' with my Mama and Pops, for we ain't stayin' in no rabies infested woods." Samuel replied while focusing on the rotary dial of the phone, the clicking making Alastor go quiet then sit on the couch. When the phone, whoever it was on the other side, his father scratched his head waiting for a moment after spitting out a number then cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'mma need someone to come out and- Yeah, deer this time. I know, it's rare but you'll believe me when you see the thing! Just have someone come and remove it, okay? Yeah, yeah, I know I'm already plannin' on stayin' elsewhere until this blows over." 

Alastor stayed quiet, meek almost when he looked at his hands unsure of how to react to the man who'd just shot and killed a deer to keep it from charging or protecting him he had no clue but it was a strange situation to be sure of. Even if his father's words were rude and mean, chipping at Alastor's self esteem, he wasn't sure what to when it came to thanking his father for every time he did it it always resulted in a whipped comeback or insult against him for his manners. Even so his mind was else where for he felt like something inside of him was churning, swirling and waiting to bloom out and kick him out of his own body so it could stretch and fill him out from his had to the tips of his fingers and toes like a fitted glove and it made him curious, made him clench his jaw. Was he going crazy? Was he finally, genuinely, losing it? He looked at his father who still spoke on the phone but seemed to take it as far as he could away from Alastor and he stared at his father's back wondering when his father got so muscular and it sent a wave of foreboding through him for he knew he could never get that strong. He would get older, yes, but would he be so strong physically? Would he ever, truly and genuinely, have such strength to act out the plan he so badly wanted? 


End file.
